The Hawke Must Learn to Fly
by Lyall Fidelis
Summary: Hawke is gone, but her companions remain. When the Seeker comes asking questions, Varric takes it upon himself to find his own answers. Post DA2. No longer a one-shot. New Chapter: 13- My Dusky Goddess- A look into what happened to Isabela
1. Chapter 1

**A/N- This was originally a one shot. In my AN before, I stated I may expand on this idea. I decided that the time has come for me to do exactly that. This first chapter is just telling you what happened to Hawke. The rest is an AU on what would have happened if Varric decided to be... Varric at the end of his interrogation.**

**Hehe... almost forgot this-**

**Look! Over there! It's a disclaimer! -runs away-  
>Ahem:<br>Bioware owns the world/game/books/puppets/kittens named after (that include you, Ser Pounce-A-Lot)characters of Dragon Age and it's associated content. I am merely expressing my views for possibilities that they have yet to expand on with no chance of gaining any profit (aww, poor Isabela) on any of this or future content within this story. If they should have a problem with me abusing this right that I have to do this, than may David Gaider strike me down as I- *lightening***

**Messere Gaider! I didn't know you were a mage!**

**Now then, let's get on with the story before you lose interest.**

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><p>A deafening sound rang in her ears. She braced herself for any sudden impact. Up until this point, she believed herself to be alone. The vast field of rocks made no tracks and she could see for miles atop one of the larger ones. Marian Hawke had been in hiding for months now. Meredith was dead. Orisino was dead. Anders was dead. The last one pained her the most. It was her own blade that had taken the life of her "lover". But why did she do it? Who was she saving?Marian had too much time to think. Too much time to relive each memory over and over, it replaying like a demon plagued dream in the fade. She was trapped within her own memories. It was a constant, this wondering. Never once did she fail to ask herself if she made the right decision siding with the Templars against her own personal beliefs. She was a mage herself, after all. A mage that had lost everything she held dear to her. Her father, her brother, her sister, her mother and even her home. And all for what? She had to wonder. To start a war? To save innocent people from something that should have been controlled in the first place? She would gladly give up these Maker forsaken powers if it meant she could have one person in her life that didn't care who she was; that didn't use her for her social standing or her power.<p>

Marian Hawke was alone up until now. Something was heading her way and she could not for the life of her figure out what it was. The screech was unlike anything she had ever heard before and it frightened her. The unknown scared her more than the biggest High Dragon. But it also might be the one thing that will save her.

She trudged on through the dense forest of boulders. Never once since she began traveling did she look back. There was nothing to look back to. The others had gone on their own paths and she did not question where. Marian was no longer their leader. Their lives were now fully up to her companions. She stopped for a moment, sitting on a pile of moss that had formed on one of the rocks. Marian inclined her head, taking a deep breath, and thought back to the last words that each of her companions had spoken to her.

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><p>Aveline would not look at her. It was like losing a sister. Donnic had been comforting Aveline since the decision was made to part ways. They would most likely head to Antiva for a little while before possibly head back down to Ferelden where they were welcomed by King Alistair. Aveline shrugged off her husband's hand, asking for a moment alone with Hawke. Marian agreed and they stepped a few feet away from the group, looking off the edge of the cliff and down upon the forest below.<p>

The two women remained silent for a few moments, soaking up the last few minutes with each other. Aveline was no longer in her guard uniform. She had cast that aside when she left Kirkwall. It was even odd to Hawke to see her in a plain tunic and pants, after all these years of knowing her. Finally, Aveline opened her mouth to speak.

"I'm not the one for long goodbyes but you know, Hawke, you can always change your mind and come with us. We will protect you, count on it."

Marian smiled and shook her head while containing a small modest laugh. "No, Aveline. It's a kind offer, but I have to refuse. It's better this way, you will see in time." Marian felt tears stream down her face as her friend turned and embraced her.

Aveline held her for a few moments before releasing her. Her hands still on her shoulders, she looked at her with a sort of softness that Hawke had never seen before. "If you need anything, Hawke, you know where to find me. If you need to have me by your side at any point, I will be there for you no matter the circumstance."

Marian wiped the tears from her eyes as Aveline dropped her hands. "I know it, Aveline. And I'll take you up on that offer. Just be careful or I might have you take down all of Orlais with me."

Aveline laughed lightly and shook her head. "I don't know how you do it, Hawke. Never change. Promise me that." Marian nodded and placed her hand on her old friend's shoulder.

"As long as you don't." Aveline returned the nod and turned towards her husband, bags at the ready. They began heading down the mountain, stopping for a final look at their old friend. Marian fought the urge to cry again as they were out of sight.

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><p>She heard the shrieking again. It was a little closer than before. Marian could not tell if this was because she was walking towards it, or it was coming towards her. Either way, it did not matter. She got up from her brief rest and took an apple out of her bag. She smirked at the memory of another friend.<p>

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><p>Merrill did not quite know what to do with the parting. She didn't know where to go or who to go with. She still held the pride of the Dalish, but she knew she could never go back to her clan. Not only did she practice blood magic, cause the death of her Keeper, but she also supported Hawke when she sided against the mages. Against the elven First Enchanter. Merrill skipped around the remaining people, trying to give herself something to do. Hawke watched this for some time until she finally pulled Merrill aside.<p>

"Have you thought of where you might be going?"

Merrill looked around and then focused her attention to her bare feet. "With you, I suppose."

Hawke shook her head at the mage and sighed. "No, Merrill. This is it. I can not allow myself to drag any of you along anymore."

Merrill looked up at Hawke with big dough eyes, tears forming. She launched herself into Hawke's arms and silently sobbed. "B-but I don't know what to do without you! No one wants me anymore. I can't go back to my clan, you won't have me beside you-"

"No, no, no. That's not it at all Merrill. You've been a good friend, but sometimes there comes a time where friends have to part ways. This isn't the end of your journey, it's just the beginning."

Merrill pulled away, the tears still staining her face after leaving a wet spot on Hawke's tunic. "But what shall I do? Where shall I go, Hawke?"

Marian smiled lightly and put her hand on Merrill's cheek. "I think you know where. You just have to look deep inside yourself to find your true calling." Marian turned as she heard her dog barking. "And I know just the one to keep you company." She whistled and her mabari ran towards her, jumping around.

Merrill bent down and stroked the brown fur of the large dog. "You mean?"

Hawke nodded and leaned over to scratch the dog behind his ears. "Yes. Fen'Harel will be going with you. He will protect you should you need it and may also help you in remembering what it was you were so good at doing."

Merrill's eyes widened as it dawned on her what exactly Hawke was implying. "I think I know what you are suggesting." Hawke smiled as she prepared herself for another embrace. This one was lighter this time but there was more compassion behind it. Hawke watched as Merrill packed her things. After a brief 'goodbye' and 'thank you', Merrill took off with her beloved pup. Hawke turned to the rest of a group and before she was able to speak a word, she was tackled once more by the tiny elf. Merrill held out an apple for Hawke to take, saying if she was going to be gone for a long time then she would need proper food. Marian smiled and said a final goodbye to the blood mage.

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><p>She took a bite out of the apple. It was not the same as the one her friend had given her months ago. That one would not keep, despite her own protests. Yes, there were points where she would speak to the objects around her, knowing fully that they could not speak back. She almost preferred it this way. The objects could not ask constant favors from her. The objects could not challenge her every action. They could not cause constant headaches with their schemes or… or comfort her when she had too much to drink. The objects could not tell stories to a massive group and enchant them all with their weaving of words. Marian looked around where she was now. An entrance to a cave was on her left and to her right was nothing but more rocks. She was far away from the smell of the salty air and the chiming of the out of tune pirate songs. Marian smiled at the thought of her old pirate friend. Isabela had left after the battle, back to the sea. She didn't get a very long goodbye, in fact, she couldn't even remember saying goodbye. Perhaps there was just too much going on that day for it to be of much significance seeing as the pirate queen had said it on so many occasions.<p>

Marian began walking towards the cave, shivering as a cold wind spun out of the entrance. Another shriek was heard following by a crash. She wondered what witty remark that dwarf would have made about this.

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><p>"Always getting yourself into trouble."<p>

Marian turned and smiled at her small companion. Varric approached her, book in hand and sorrow in his eyes. "How much fun would I be if I didn't get into trouble, Varric?"

Varric shook his head and forced a smile on his face. "You know, Hawke, I'm not one for goodbyes-"

"Then don't say goodbye." Marian shrugged, turning her back to the beardless dwarf.

She heard him scoff and walk up next to her. "Then what should I say? 'It's been fun, don't get killed'?"

Marian suppressed the grin that was forming on her face and let out a sigh instead. "How about saying something cheesy like 'I'll always see you in my stories'?"

"Pfft. It wouldn't be the same. My stories don't put me in nearly as much danger as you do."

"You never know, Varric, maybe someone will take them a little too seriously one day."

Varric laughed and ran his hand through his blonde hair. "The day my stories get me in trouble is the day I go to a Merchant's Guild meeting." Hawke laughed lightly and looked down to her old friend. The spark in his eyes was nearly faded. His stubble had began to grow more but he kept it down as much as he could with a dull knife.

"So, you getting out of here?"

"Miss me already?"

"Like Isabela misses the Blooming Rose."

"Awe, Hawke, you always know just what to say. But yeah, I am heading out. I have a bar tab that is just going to keep gaining interest until I pay it off."

Marian scoffed, still looking out to the horizon. "Heading back to Kirkwall after all this?"

Varric shrugged, "It's where I keep all of my stuff."

"Whatever happened to Sebastian? Did you ever find out before we left?"

"After the battle he headed back to Starkhaven. Apparently you got through to him and he's taking his throne back."

Marian nodded lightly and glanced over to her companion who slung his bag over his back.

"Hey," Varric looked up at Hawke, sighing heavily, "it's been fun Hawke. Don't get killed. I've tried so hard to keep you alive." He turned to leave and Marian called out to the dwarf.

"I thought you said you wouldn't say that!"

Varric waved his hand, not wanting to look back. "After seven years you still believe everything I say? You're too trusting, Hawke. You have to fix that." With that, he was gone down the mountain, leaving Hawke to ponder his words.

* * *

><p>Ice. Fire. Lightening. She sensed them all. The screeches grew louder and magic was potent in the air.<p>

She scurried along the pre-made path, gripping onto her staff tightly as she listened closely to the noises around her. Everything was too clear. Normally these moments would be filled with pointless chatter or the slaughter of a Dragonlings or two. This is what made her nervous. It was silent now. The screeches halted and so did the scent of battle. Someone else was here with her and she had no idea when they would pop out and come to get her as well. A light shined in front of Marian, showing the entrance to a larger room. She strode closer to the entrance, her defenses high at anything that could possibly be in there.

Hawke stopped at the entrance, chest heaving with a sudden anxiety. She still had time to turn back. She didn't have to get involved in something that wasn't her affair. She didn't need to know everything. That was not who she was anymore. That was not what she wanted. But she couldn't help it. She shifted around the corner slowly, placing a foot within the entrance.

* * *

><p>"Do you regret it?"<p>

Marian jumped, startled by the silent elf that had walked up behind her. "Regret what, Fenris?"

The tattooed elf moved next to the mage and glanced over at her. "What you did back in Kirkwall. Do you regret any of it?"

Hawke thought back to the events that had occurred. The only thing that plagued her mind was the voice of the man that had laid in her bed just the night before his demise. And it was by her own hands. It wasn't that she regretted killing him, it was that she regretted being with him. She convinced herself that it would just take time to love him, to want to be with him for more than a factor of lust. But that wasn't true. The moment that she decided to take his life when she had the chance to save it, she knew.

"Hawke?"

Marian blinked a few times before turning her attention back to Fenris. "Yes?"

He raised his eyebrow curiously at her. "Are you going to answer my question?"

Hawke sighed and placed her face in her hands. "I only regret one thing, and I can't change it now."

"Does it have to do with killing the abomination?" Fenris crossed his arms and looked away towards the sunset.

Marian grunted and placed her hands on her hips. "In a way, I suppose. I just don't know why I feel the way I do about it."

"It's because you had strong feelings for him but don't think you didn't do the right thing, Hawke."

Marian forced out a chuckle and plastered a small grin on her face. "No. I'm not sad over having to kill him. I'm sad that I didn't feel anything once the deed was done."

Fenris scrunched his eyebrows together, not fully understanding what she was speaking about. "I'm not quite sure I follow."

Marian shook her head and turned back to the packed up camp. "Just forget it, alright?" Fenris nodded and trudged in front of her, the red scarf around his wrist mocking Marian as she caught it in the corner of her eye. It was a symbol of the mistake that she had made. It was a symbol of her stubborn attitude, her unwillingness to be alone. A symbol for what could have been.

Fenris grabbed his Sword of Mercy and slung it over his back, along with a small pack of provisions and books. "Well, this is where we finally part, Hawke."

Marian nodded, not saying a word to the former slave. She heard him sigh heavily as he turned away, heading down the path she had seen all her companions go. Marian wanted to run after him. She wanted to tell him how she really felt, how it was all just a mistake. But she let him go. She knew that telling him now would just make an excuse for him to stay, and she wanted him to be free.

"Marian."

Hawke looked over to the elf standing at the edge of the path and she tilted her head curiously. "Fenris?"

"I-I know what you regret. I just wanted you to know before I left that-"

"That what?"

Fenris hesitated, looking back and forth between the path and Marian. "I'll be in Starkhaven if you ever decide to come back and discuss it. Sebastian offered me a job there."

Hawke smiled freely. "Thank you, Fenris." He nodded, lightly touching the red scarf around his wrist before he took off down the mountain. She waited for him to turn back, but he never did.

* * *

><p>The warm air sent goose bumps down her spine as the drastic change of temperature hit her. In front of her was about thirty dead Shrieks and a type of dragon that she had only seen once before- when she was on Sundermont fulfilling her bargain with the witch. Marian stepped over the bodies almost tripping over all the carnage. In her view, she saw a woman and a man speaking in front of a large mirror.<p>

"We have to get moving. She found us once again and she will be back. It was only chance that I was able to summon enough power to make the eluvian work a second time."

The man kissed the forehead of the woman gently, holding her shoulders. "I agree. We must keep our child safe if he is to-" The man glanced over a Marian. Her face drained as the two noticed her.

The woman waved her towards them. "Come. We were wondering when you would get here. We were just about to leave without you. You have good timing, Marian Hawke."

Marian walked slowly towards the two, noting the staffs on both of their backs. "How do you know my name?"

The man chuckled lightly, releasing his hold on the woman and turned to face Marian. "What sort of cousin would I be if I didn't know your name?"

Marian drew her eyebrows together as she reached the bottom of the short steps leading up to the mirror. "Cousin?"

The man smirked. "Ah, yes. I suppose introductions are in order-"

"We really don't have time for this." The woman scoffed impatiently.

"Shh. Calm down, love. We need to in order for her to trust us. Is this not what you want?"

The woman sighed and turned her back. She waved her hand impatiently at Marian and the man. "Fine fine. Get on with it."

The man smiled lightly and turned his attention back to Marian. "Her name is Morrigan-"

Hawke's eyes widened as it all came together. "As in Flemeth's daughter and the woman who helped the Hero of Ferelden defeat the blight?"

The man placed his hand on his forehead and sighed heavily. "Yes yes. Are we done being shocked now? Good. And I am Daylen Amell. Please. Hold you shock and awe."

Marian stood there stoically, waiting for him to go on.

"What? She gets this huge- Oh never mind."

"You told me to hold my enthusiasm."

Daylen chuckled and shook his head. "We are so family."

Morrigan turned around, her patience thinning. "Yes, this is so touching. Now may we please walk through the portal?"

Hawke eyed the mirror curiously. "I had a friend who had a mirror just like this. A demon was attempting to pass through it-"

"Yes, well this one does _not_ have a demon in it. Now, move along. We're wasting precious time." Morrigan walked towards the mirror and turned, tapping her foot to signal to her lover that time wasn't going to slow down for a family reunion.

"Why must I go through it?"

Daylen held out his hand and his cousin cautiously grasped it. He guided her up the stairs towards the mirror. "You are being hunted. You know this?" Marian nodded her head. "Well, so am I. Until the time is right, we need to stay hidden. The world will have to have someone else do their bidding until then. We played our parts. Now it's time for someone else to continue it."

"What do you mean we 'played our parts'?"

Morrigan touched the mirror lightly, the glass swirled around her fingertips. "Foolish girl. All of this would have happened whether you were there or not. It is fate. We can not control it, only help it along and stand back to allow another to fulfill his destiny. We will train and grow in strength until the day that the Hero of Ferelden and the Champion of Kirkwall are needed once more. And when that day comes, the world will change forever. Whether it likes it or not."

Daylen guided her closer to the mirror. Her reflection was blurred by the magical energy surrounding it. She did not know if this was the right thing to do. She didn't know if she was ready to leave just yet.

"If this is about that elf, girl, do not worry. He will be fine without you for now." Morrigan crossed her arms, awaiting Hawke's decision.

"H-how did you-"

"Morrigan sees many things that can not be explained. You will learn more in the time you spend with us, just as our child is learning. Trust us." Daylen patted Hawke on the back, trying to soothe any remaining worries.

"Make your decision quickly, it will only be open for so long." Morrigan passed through the mirror, the shimmering glass engulfing her form.

Daylen stepped forward, running his fingers along the surface. "Coming?" He inclined his head towards the mirror, hoping she would make the right choice. In an instant, he disappeared like his companion, leaving Hawke to decide for herself.

Marian thought back to her friends, her family. She had left them all knowing that they would be able to take care of themselves. She had nothing left in this world that she could reclaim except for what was waiting for her in Starkhaven. The only person keeping her here and she wasn't even sure he would accept her back.

"Just something for me to look forward to I suppose." Taking a deep breath, Marian Hawke slowly stepped through the portal. The mirror sealed behind her.


	2. Don't Tip The Boat

Three years had gone by since Hawke left. A few moments had passed after Varric told the story of the Champion to the Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast. His fingers drummed lightly on the soft, cushioned chair that he was pushed into during his interrogation. His hair held small tints of grey, quite unnoticeable by the straw yellow of his hair, unless you looked closely enough. His long brown coat held a few patches from wears and tears, but he wouldn't get a new one because it was just so damn comfortable.

Varric took a deep breath and sighed heavily, hopping down from the chair. With a quick hand, he pulled an old wooden crossbow out from under it. The dwarf stroked the wood lovingly with a gloved hand. "At least she didn't find you, Bianca. Who knows what she would have done to you." Hooking his love to his back, he carefully made his way to the exit of the house his dearest friend had abandoned so many years ago. He could still smell the residue from the explosions that the boy Sandal made, still hear the laughter coming out of the dining hall from when Hawke threw parties for each of their birthdays. The once cheerfully lit home was now covered in thick layers of dust, the only signs that were ever life there being the books strewn across the floors, forgotten by looters. Varric had been able to keep them at bay for a long time, but even he ran out of money. Soon, the home had regular visitors in the night, leaving by morning with whatever they could carry.

As Varric walked, he looked down as a paper shuffled beneath his feet. "Bah," he said while picking it up to examine it. His eyebrows came together as a frown appeared on his face. "All these years of people looting here and they still don't want to read your manifesto, Blondie." He crumpled up the torn paper and tossed it into a dark corner.

Slowly, Varric opened the door to the mansion, the hinges making a soft creek which made the rogue wince as he peeked through the crack.

"…no sign of the Warden either…" That's all he heard as the wind seemed to carry away their voices. His eyes moved from the back of Cassandra's head to a middle-aged, red haired woman next to her. He _knew_ her. Twice, he remembered meeting the Orlesian. Once during a meeting arranged by the Divine. The second time was in Orlais when helping that Qunari agent, Tallis. Two times, they had met under odd circumstances, both involving the Chantry. She knew that Hawke was innocent, she also knew that the Warden had nothing to do with this, so why lead the Seeker on? He caught a glimpse of the armor that the girl, Leliana was her name, wore. A sunburst eye was in the center, signifying that she was part of the Seeker order. The highest ranks under the Divine… before they separated themselves from the chantry only about two years ago.

The Leliana that he had met was dedicated to Divine Justina, so why turn on her now? Something wasn't right, and Varric being the nosy bastard that he was, had to find out what exactly was making his fingers twitch. _A good story_, he told himself, _a good story is all that I want._ The group of Seekers left the rebuilt Hightown, but not before Varric was able to stealthily wade himself past them, hugging against the crumbling stone walls of the mansion.

He stayed twenty paces in front of them the entire way until they reached the docks. An unusual ship was in the harbor, it's bright colors and flaunting craftsmanship was foreign to these docks. Flags from Orlais hung from the masts. Varric watched as they stopped in front of the ship, discussing plans for where they should head next. Without a second thought, he ran past them, soft boots padding against the wood of the docking area. He ran to the side of the ship, where his deed would go unnoticed, and hopped as best as his short legs would let him, onto the netting that strewed across the side of the ship and up the railing.

Varric's footing slipped as he knotted the netting between his fingers. He dangled for a few moments, eventually pulling himself up as he regained his footing. Slowly, he climbed up the ship, aware of any foreign sound other than the distant chatter and sloshing of the waves against the boat. He peeked his eyes over the railing as his fingers gripped tightly onto a solid surface. _No one on board…. Good._ With much effort, he pulled himself up and swung himself unceremoniously onto the deck. He rolled on the surface and groaned as his muscles ached from the impact. Varric shook his head as he stood up, _definitely getting too old for this._

The dwarf slid in and out of cover between barrels of food, his eyes locked on his target. There was a door below the Captain's deck, where the steering wheel overlooked the rest of the ship. An intricate design was carved into the surface and it was adorned with jewels along the edges of the design. _Hello maps._ Varric looked around quickly before hobbling his way over to the door and pressing his ear against it. Nothing, as far as he could hear. He opened the door and peered inside, trying to adjust his eyes to the darkness of the room. Closing the door behind him, he took out a flint and made his way over to the desk that he had spotted when there was a sliver of light in the room.

His hands padded over the top until they hit a stick-like object. Grunting, he pulled it off the desk and put his flint up to the wirey substance sticking out of one end. _Blasted Orlesians. I thought they had enough money to have glow rocks everywhere. Figures I would meet the only ones that still used candles._ One. Two. Three flicks of his flint and a spark appeared, lighting the wick on fire. Varric brought the candle forth as he studied a mesh of papers on the desk. Memos, trading ledgers, a list of-

A list of names.

He picked it up and scanned it quickly. Noticing how many were crossed out, how many were circled. His name was there, towards the middle and after a lot of crossed out marks. Below him, Sebastian Vael, Aveline Vallen, Merrill, Isabela and Fenris' names were listed.

But Isabela's was crossed out. Merrill, Aveline, himself and Sebastian were circled. Fenris' name was left as it was. Varric's eyebrows drew together in confusion to what these notes meant, why they were listing their names.

And then the boat creaked as shouts were being heard from outside.

Varric blew out the candle after placing the pile of papers in the order he found them. "Shit," he whispered under his breath as he tried to figure out how to get out without anyone seeing him. As custom, there were no windows in the Captain's quarters, to discourage people from coming through any other way but the door in case of a mutiny. He ran over to the door and opened it slightly, letting one eye fall into the crack. A blurred image of the Seeker Cassandra and the red haired Chantry Sister crossed his vision path, which was quickly blocked as sailors and Templars begun their duties. The ship was about to set sail, and Varric had no way of getting off before it did so.

He gnawed on his lip as he shut the door again, and squinted his eyes to the darkness. _There has to be something-_ A crack in the floor caught his eye, under the carpet. He moved the edge of the carpet away to reveal a secret door. He searched around the area and finally laid his hand on a metal ring. With much force, he pulled it open and set it gently on the floor. Below, he could see the faint glow of lanterns shadowing dozens of crates. _Cargo hold._ He heard no noise coming from there, so with a deep breath, he descended the short stairs down, pulling the door closed with the carpet on top as carefully as he could.

He dropped to the floor as he missed the last step of the ladder, and cursed himself as he believed to have sprained his rear. Rubbing it as he stood, Varric looked around the small hold. _Well, Bianca, we better get comfortable. This is going to be a long trip._ Sighing, he took one of the lanterns from the wooden beams that supported this area of the ship, and walked around, stepping over loose food and bottles of water. He found a small cubby at the very back of the ship, the boxes back there looking like they hadn't seen daylight in years. People generally didn't swap out their goods or throw away anything, even as it lay rotting in the ship to attract rats. For once, he thanked whatever creator that allowed this and squeezed his way into the cubby. It was only big enough for him to sit crouched and to lay down, with Bianca beside him. So he did just that. He laid down flat on his stomach, taking out a piece of parchment and a small stick of coal. He searched his mind for the names that he saw on the list, and began to re-write them.

Smiling at his success and excellent memory, Varric laid down his coal and racked his brain for what all these people had in common. As the light from the lantern dimmed from the oil depleting, Varric felt his eyelids slowly falling down as the ship, now set out on the sea, rocked on the waves. Only half of the list could be related to one person…. The other half, he had his suspicions.

He may have only dreamed it, in his half awake state, but Varric swore he heard the men above deck cursing about having to go to a dog-lord country. But for what? He didn't know. _Oh Hawke would have a field day if she knew that my story got me in trouble._


	3. The Contract

**A/N- Sorry for not updating for a little while, but... ugh... work. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this section of the story. My blood, sweat and... more blood went into it. Yay all-nighters!**

Varric groaned as he stretched, his muscles tensed from the sleeping position forced upon him by the small living space. Three days and his body still hadn't adjusted to his arrangements. Crouching as he sat up, he hooked Bianca to his back, knocking his elbows several times against the wooden walls. "They couldn't have more luxurious quarters for stowaways," he grumbled to himself, as he did so often since no one was around to listen to him. Every now and again he would wonder out of his hole and towards the trap door that he originally went through. Each time, no one would be in the room, though he would wait for hours for anything. A footstep, a mumbled curse, anything the give him a hint of why they were headed in the route that they were.

It was time once again for him to do just so. He hobbled his way out and around a few barrels, knowing the path from doing it a hundred times over. Once in a while, he would hear men come in and out of the storage area, but never grow close to where he was. They would replace the oil in the lamps, grab a few supplies to haul to the deck, and then be gone until the next meal. It was in between meals that Varric had his chance to sneak forward. He reached his destination and sat quietly behind a barrel that was strategically placed to shield him from anyone coming down the ladder, or down the stairs. Here, he would wait.

What seemed like hours passed by. A few apple cores now littered the area where the dwarf sat. They would be gone by morning, usually carried away by the rats that infested this vessel. Varric stood up and brushed off the dust that had accumulated on him, turning in for the day as it approached what he believed to be dinner time. Just as he was about to step from cover, a loud thump was heard above him. Instinctively, Varric ducked back down and reached behind him, prepared to draw the already loaded crossbow. A muffled conversation began above him, in the Captain's quarters, shortly after another loud thump was heard. _Probably just the door_, he thought to himself as he edged closer to the ladder and relaxed his stance. He could faintly make out the words being exchanged through the trap door.

"I just don't know why we insist on finding them. We already got all the information we could from the dwarf." A husky male voice, the louder of the two, sounded irritated. Varric was able to trace his position from the pacing steps being taken on the hardwood floor, or ceiling in his case.

"The Champion could have gone to any of her companions after she left. I want to rule out all possibilities before running around Thedas like we are chickens with our heads cut off." The woman seemed to be shrieking at the man with much authority. Varric recognized the muffled voice of Cassandra. _Well, at least I know I'm on the right boat, _he said thoughtfully to himself, rubbing the stubble on his chin.

The man let out what Varric thought to be a scoff. "Like we are doing with the Hero?"

Cassandra's voice grew dark as the man brought up her failed quest to find the Hero of Ferelden, to which she even invoked the aid of one of his old companions to no avail. "You have no right to question me. You are simply a man with a boat, and that is all. This is none of your concern. Our matter with you is a business transaction, and if need be, we can find another." Varric heard Cassandra's footsteps fade towards what he suspected to be the door. The dull creak confirmed it.

"Good luck finding another Orlesian vessel with clearance to go to Ferelden. Or have you forgotten that our country's civil war is threatening to reach into that dog-lord habitation?"

"Orlais stopped being 'my country' when the Divine betrayed us." The door slammed, releasing a much louder 'thud' that shook the trap door, raining dust and dirt upon the dwarf. He resisted the urge to cough as the dust began to tickle at his throat.

The room fell silent above him, except for the scrape of what seemed to be a chair. _Well, that was interesting. _Varric took a step back, about to turn on his heel and back into his hovel to make a few notes when a voice cut through his thoughts.

"Like what you are hearing?" Before he could respond to the woman's voice, a hand grasped around his mouth, making him inhale a cloth laced with a paralyzing poison. He struggled against her, grabbing tightly onto the gauntleted hand and pulling with all his might. The woman did not loosen up, instead, she wrapped her other arm around his neck and squeezed tightly. His struggling became less and less as the poison made it's way into his system and the tightness around his throat constricted his airways. His small body went limp and his world grew black.

* * *

><p>His head ached like he had received a blow to his temple. Slowly, Varric was regaining the feeling in his limbs as he began to move his fingers. He felt the rough texture of a wool blanket covering him and the lumpy feathered mattress beneath him. It all seemed too familiar. Was he home? Was the Seeker just a bad dream? He heard a woman humming the Ferelden national anthem. He only knew it because he had heard Hawke humming the same tune and occasionally singing the words along with the other refugees during her drunken escapades in the Hanged Man. Varric chuckled at the thought and instinctively said the words that he had so often said to Hawke when she woke him up in the morning to go on a raid. "I'm sure the slavers will wait another hour, Hawke."<p>

The humming stopped and was replaced by a small female laugh. "I'm afraid you have me confused for someone else."

Varric quickly opened his eyes and bolted upright, reaching for Bianca that always laid next to him. She wasn't there. His hand shifted down to his side for one of his concealed daggers, also not there. He cursed silently to himself as he realized just how easily he was both captured and disarmed.

"I had to disarm you. I wouldn't want you putting a bolt through my chest before we had a chance to talk."

His eyes shifted towards the woman sitting in a rough-cut wooden chair. Her short red hair curved around her pale oval face. A face he so very much recognized. "Sister Leliana, what a surprise."

Leliana regarded the dwarf with a small nod of her head, a smile creasing her pale lips. "Yes. And you are Varric Tethras, as I recall. Tell me, Varric, is it really a surprise to see me?"

Varric considered the thought for a moment before releasing a smirk of his own. "No, not really. But if you just wanted to talk, why not a 'hey, come up to my room I need to speak with you'? Instead of the whole, you know," he waved his hand as he was attempting to elaborate what he was trying to say, "cloak-and-dagger thing? I mean, that poison smelled awful. I haven't smelled something that potent since my days running with Rivaini."

It had not really occurred to her that things would be that simple. She was taught to be secretive, not direct and to the point. At first, she believed he would be more resistant, but by his demeanor, this might have been a lot easier than she first thought. The dwarf, she realized, was more willing to speak in a calming and formal manner than many men that she was used to dealing with. But she also knew of his silver tongue, so however at ease he seemed to be, she must still be wary of any danger. "I apologize for my behavior. I just wasn't aware how cooperative you might be. I know someone in your position wouldn't be very trusting of another that associated with a person like Seeker Cassandra."

The dwarf chuckled, "You're probably right. But I'm also not most people. And neither are you. So," he cleared his throat, "why go through all this trouble? Just eager to speak to someone with a sense of humor?"

She averted her eyes towards the flickering candle on the desk next to her. "No, nothing like that. As you may know, we are headed to Ferelden. It's been quite some time since I had traveled there and I intend on seeking someone out when we dock."

Varric raised his eyebrows curiously. "But…"

Leliana bit her bottom lip, chewing on the idea before fully speaking it. "But… I do not intend on letting the Seeker know of my plan."

Varric swung his legs to the edge of the bed. He leaned forward and held his head up with his hands. "Sister, are you planning on ditching the Seeker?" An amused smile crawled across his face.

She drew her eyes sharply towards him. "Yes. And you are coming with me."

He raised an eyebrow, allowing a crease to form on his forehead. "I am? Well," he straightened himself and gestured his hands outward, "is this a choice or an order?"

"Both. You have no where to go, Varric. And _I_ know what Cassandra is planning. You help me contact my friend, and I'll help you in finding yours."

This peeked Varric's curiosity. He didn't know who had gone to Ferelden besides Carver when he joined the Wardens, but she wasn't talking about him. Leliana knew a lot more than she was allowing him in on, and it irked him slightly. He was always the one who knew everything, who had all the contacts, all the information before anyone else. Now that position was taken away from him, and he had no other choice but to comply. Varric sighed, _this is getting complicated._

"Who is my friend?"

Leliana was amused herself now. She didn't want to tell him, knowing fully well that as soon as they were out of sight, the dwarf could break their deal and set off to find his friend himself. She could see how much this irritated Varric, which only made the game more fun for her.

"You will see."

Varric scoffed and looked away, "That's not a very good answer. I might not even like them."

"Well, we may never know that until we find them. So, Varric, do we have a deal?"

Varric groaned and stood up, adjusting to the jelly-like feel in his legs. He hobbled over to Leliana and studied her. Reaching out his hand, he nodded his head. "We have a deal as long as you give me Bianca back."

"Bia- Your crossbow?"

"Not just any crossbow. _My_ crossbow."

Leliana pulled the wooden beauty from under the desk, along with his daggers, and Varric took her. He petted her fondly before returning her to her rightful place on his back. Varric grinned and held out his hand again. "Hand it over."

"I have no idea what you are talking about, Varric."

The dwarf quirked an eyebrow at her, and made a "give it" gesture with his fingers. Leliana groaned and plopped a pouch into his hand. The coins inside jingled as he tied it back onto his belt. Smiling, he extended his hand once more.

Leliana regarded the hand distastefully. "I don't have anything else of yours."

"This one is for shaking. I agree to your terms and we need to seal the contract." Leliana made a small "o" with her mouth before accepting the agreement. They clasped hands, forming a contract to help one another. When the deed was accomplished, they would be done with each other. Or, at least, that's what Varric believed.


	4. That's a she?

**A/N- These chapters are actually short for a particular reason. It's not that I'm lazy, I swear. I just find myself less inclined to get stuck and have writer's block when I have less to… well, write. So it's purely for all of your benefit. I swear. I am **_**not**_** being selfish. Alright, maybe a little.**

* * *

><p>A shake.<p>

A bleary eyed look.

A nod.

An understanding.

Sneaking out wasn't the problem. Staying to the shadows, with the shroud of anxiety over them for fear of getting caught, was not that made him uneasy. It was the long silence that followed as Leliana took the lead, dragging him along in a country he was not familiar with. They had left in the early dawn after their docking the night before. Seeker Cassandra was some how persuaded to wait until morning to find a suitable tavern to book a few rooms in. This gave Varric and Leliana a chance to take their leave.

Too many questions were left unanswered on Varric's part, and it left a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach. Leliana had refused to answer to any of his prying, including an explanation on how she even knew he had boarded the ship. All she said was a simple, "it doesn't matter how I knew" and left it at that. He had bitten his silver tongue after that, even though questions still gnawed at him in the back of his mind. Now they wandered the dark alleys of a city Leliana was all too familiar with.

Guards watched them speculatively, their eyes glowering down on them as they appeared to clench onto their broad swords tighter. This sort of treatment was not a foreign feeling to either of them. Varric couldn't blame the guards of being wary of two well-armed people wandering through the city before any of the shops were open. Instead of heading towards the large gate that marked the exit of the city, they weaved around the alleys, past newly rebuilt homes that were next to patches of grass where other homes once stood. "What's with all the empty spaces?"

Leliana frowned to herself as they took another sharp corner. "This was where the final battle during the blight was held ten years ago. No matter our best efforts, many Fereldens perished. Their homes were destroyed by the wild fires set by the darkspawn. Some rebuilt with aid from King Alistair. Some moved on to different parts of Ferelden, unable to bear the pain from staying in Denerim with so many memories of chaos. Others were never seen again after the battle. No families came to claim the ruined ashes of the homes, or even the bodies. The King bought the space and made it so that no other home would ever stand there, as a memorial to those lost so that they would never be forgotten."

Her voice was thick with remorse for those that had perished. It didn't matter that it had happened so long ago, no one just forgot that. Varric knew this as he believed he would never forget the screams and torments of those during the battle in Kirkwall. Many mages had given in to their despair, seeking aid from the demons that harbored on the edges of the veil that was so thin in that City of Chains. Sometimes, he felt responsible for what happened there. He was the one that found Hawke, after all. The one that urged her and her brother to take the jobs and collect the coin for the Deep Roads. He was the one that told her about the Warden in the slums of Darktown. If it wasn't for him, they would have never found the idol that his brother, Bartrand, betrayed them for and sold to the Knight-Commander. She would have never lost her brother to the Wardens. Her mother would have never been noticed if they remained in Lowtown. Maybe, just maybe, if he didn't find Hawke…

"Varric?" Leliana peered curiously at the dwarf as they stopped in front of a large building in one of the alleys. He shook his hand and waved the thought off, telling her he was fine.

Looking up to the building, knowing that they must have stopped for a purpose and not for Leliana's own curiosity of his thoughts, he scrunched his brows at the sign. "Wonders of Thedas?" He had heard of the shop, but there was no such thing in Kirkwall. The closest they could possibly get to it would be the small stalls run by the tranquil in the Gallows. Why they would stop there, of all places, was not too clear to him. "I don't think it's open." The windows were dark and there was no sign of movement through them. Not to mention the sign was not switched over to "open for business".

Leliana chuckled and moved towards the door. A few quick clicks later, she swung it inwards. "Looks open to me."

Varric let out an amazed whistle and stepped into the dark shop behind the Bard.

It was as dark inside as it was outside. A faint light from the rising sun shined through the large windows. The place was spotless. Not a hint of dust on any of the shelves where books and trinkets lined up neatly and in an orderly fashion. Varric was so busy admiring the magical items, that when he spotted the man standing stoically behind the desk at the front, he nearly jumped out of his boots.

Leliana seemed less surprised than her dwarven companion. She strolled up to the counter, Varric at her heals, with her head held high and a smirk on her face. The tranquil bowed his head slightly, his yellow-gold robes shining in the candle-light. The mark on his forehead was clearly visible as his entire head appeared to be shaved. Varric relaxed a little, but was still inwardly tensed as he often found the tranquil to be nerving.

"Welcome to the Wonders of Thedas. We carry items crafted by the Circle, as well a variety of antiquities. Is there anything you'd like to see?" His voice was monotonous as he looked at the pair emotionlessly.

"We are more interested in your dwarven made items. Particularly ones that hold special abilities for combat and the like."

Varric looked up at the red-haired woman, not quite getting what she was doing. "Uh, you're being extremely vague. As I recall, tranquil don't 'get' vagueness."

"We have many runes, if that is what you are interested in," the tranquil replied to Leliana, his voice still showing nothing of his former self.

"Not quite," Leliana moved a little closer to the counter and leaned over it, resting her elbow down. "I'm looking for something quite larger than that."

"Is the Sister done with this useless chatter?"

"What in the void is that thing?" Varric unhooked Bianca at the sound of the booming new voice. He pulled back on the clip, loading a bolt in an instant. A hand fell on his crossbow, urging for him to back down.

"It's alright, Varric. She's a friend."

Varric looked up at Leliana like she was a three headed mabari. "_She?_ That _thing_ is a she? How can you even tell? It has no… parts."

He swore he heard the human-sized rock golem sigh irritably, it's glowing white eye sockets flashing in annoyance. "What? Do I not seem shapely enough for the Chatty Dwarf? Perhaps it would like a chisel to carve me into the form it thinks I should have to be a woman?" It looked over to Leliana. "May I squish it now?"

Leliana folded her arms over her chest and shook her head. "No. There will be no squishing. Like it or not, Varric is here to stay." She looked down at the dwarf and gestured her hand out to the golem. "This is Shale. She… has some unique circumstances."

"I see that," Varric said while rubbing his chin thoughtfully after replacing Bianca in her holster. If Leliana was comfortable around this... creature... than he supposed he would be as well. His eyes roamed around the statue-like creature, taking in the beautiful detail of the crystals embedded into it's skin- er- rock.

Shale scoffed and turned her head away from them. "The Sister says that like I am a squirrel wearing a dress."

Leliana groaned in annoyance. "You know what I meant." She looked around nervously, seeming unphased by the fact that the tranquil was still standing behind the counter. "At any rate, we have to move on before the sun is completely up. Knowing Cassandra, she will notice my disappearance very soon." She took a few steps towards the door, pausing for the other two to follow.

Varric looked hastily between the Bard and the Golem and shrugged. "I've been with weirder people." He followed her step, and knew that Shale did as well by the force of it's steps. They rumbled the shelves, allowing poultices to sway in their bottles and books to threaten falling on the floor.

"Can I squish the monotonous one," Shale asked to no one in particular as they made their way to the door.

"No," Leliana replied, opening it, allowing the quickly rising sun's light to fall into the shop.

Shale sighed again, "Maybe keep it as a pet then? It would be a lot more amusing to have it fetch me things."

"No," Leliana said sharply as they walked once again down the alley of Denerim.

"Alright. I suppose the Chatty Dwarf will just have to do it in it's place."

Varric chuckled and shook his head. He looked the long way up to the golem that was trudging beside him. "Shall I get you a towel, Serrah? Perhaps a pet rock? Maybe even a stool to sit on?"

Shale did not look down at the dwarf and his jokes. She merely trudged on, seeming to completely ignore him until she muttered, "Why do I need a stool? I could just sit on it's face if it doesn't shut up."

Varric rolled his eyes at the towering golem and jogged his way up to the front, where Leliana was holding the lead of their little pack. "Why exactly do we need to bring this thing along?"

Leliana brought the hood of her cloak up to cover her head, gesturing for Varric to do the same. He didn't like his hood, barely ever used it, never really needed it. It didn't really even make sense why they would need hoods up. Shale wasn't exactly what he would call 'inconspicuous'. But he complied, grumbling to himself and waited for her to answer as they passed through the market place.

She let some time pass, reveling in the fact that she made him twitch with anxiety to know the answer to his question. They passed through the gates of Denerim and out onto the frequently traveled highway. "I told Shale that I would be back when I dropped her off in Ferelden a year ago. I couldn't just let her wander around the countryside while we were here."

Varric opened his mouth to speak, but she quickly silenced him as she held up her hand. "No, she is not the friend that I was speaking about."

He grumbled and let out an exasperated sigh. "Alright then, where are we going now oh fearless leader?"

She chuckled at his use of the title, knowing that he was annoyed enough to use it. "Well, I suppose I might as well tell you, since from here you do not know where you are going so there is less of a chance that you will run off."

"Yeah, that would be pretty stupid, wouldn't it? I probably would wind up in a brothel somewhere."

Leliana let out a somewhat hearty laugh, coughing a few times before she settled down. "You would make a terrible whore."

Varric smirked at the idea, "I don't know about that. How many people would pay to be talked into an orgasm?"

She looked down at him and shook her head. "Not enough for you to make a living. But, as I was saying," she regained her composure as her eyes were set on the horizon, "we are heading to the South Reach. My business first, then yours." She tucked her hand into her cloak and pulled out a folded parchment. Varric took it and opened it, allowing his eyes to search the map in question.

He whistled in astonishment. "That's quite a ways."

"Don't feel like walking? I suppose we could buy some horses in the next town."

"Why buy horses?" He pointed his thumb at the golem trailing behind them. "We can just ride that thing. For extra coin we can even rent it out to some kids to climb on."

Leliana actually considered the idea for a moment, tapping her finger on her chin before lightly shaking her head. "No, I don't think Shale is very 'kid friendly'."

Varric turned his head to see the golem chasing away birds from the path, swiping at them with her large rock hands. He smiled to himself at the sight, which quickly turned into a grimace as Shale managed to catch one of the birds, squishing it with a force between her hands. He straightened his vision back to the path and lowered his head, shaking it. "No. Definitely not kid friendly."


	5. Ballad for Two

**Fixed some things in the previous chapter like Varric saying "hell". No one else seemed to catch it, but I cursed myself for using it considering they don't have any lore named "Hell". Bah, to the void with it! This is more of an interlude, a short break before they start getting in some real trouble. Because all adventurers need some down time, right? Right.**

Night grew quicker than they had anticipated. Varric's legs felt like jelly under him and the emptiness of his stomach tore at his insides. To pass the time, Leliana and Varric had been sharing tales of the Hero and the Champion, laughing at the similarities between the two. She never spoke it, but Varric suspected that there were feeling rooted under her words towards the Warden. Whenever she spoke about him, her eyes would go soft and a faint smile would appear on her face. But then she spoke of Morrigan, the Warden's lover and daughter of Flemeth, and she seemed to spit out the words with an utmost distaste for the woman. That, in itself, was odd. To Varric, it didn't seem like the Sister could hate, or even mildly dislike, anyone at all. Her easy-going demeanor had even had him relaxed enough that he didn't mind the rambling complaints of her stone friend.

Which were constant.

Every other minute it seemed like Shale had something new to complain about. If she didn't, then she would mock Varric and Leliana, or 'Chatty Dwarf' and 'Sister'. Varric cringed as he heard the golem sigh heavily for the thousandth time.

"Yes, Sparkle?" Varric tried to seem slightly interested in what Shale had to say, if he didn't then it would lead to a whole other set of arguments.

"I stepped on a rock," the golem groaned irritably.

Leliana frowned, drawing her eyebrows together. "But… you're made of rock. You can't even feel it."

"I think that's golem talk for 'I'm grumpy and I need a nap'," Varric said, grinning up to Leliana.

"I do not partake in it's squishy habit of relapsing in a state of utter silence and lowered guards. On another thought, why doesn't it take a nap?"

"Depends," Varric said holding a smirk on his face, "do I get to cuddle with you? I need something to hold at night and make me feel safe, and you would do just perfect, Sparkle."

"Ugh," the distaste of the thought seething through her voice, "that is a repulsive idea."

"I think it would be a wonderful idea," Leliana grinned widely, suppressing a giggle. "It would be like a slumber party. We could all cuddle up to you at night as you tell us stories."

Shale's step faltered. She grumbled and let out a shudder. "Both the Chatty Dwarf and the Sister better keep it's distance from now on."

Varric rolled his eyes and chuckled, finding relief in the silence that followed the conversation.

It stayed that way for some time, once in a while interrupted by a comment from any of the three, which was either ignored or quickly shut down. Leliana and Varric found themselves almost hunching over in hunger, neither of them remembering the last time they had a proper meal.

Finally, Leliana spotted a tavern just inside a small town. It was too dark to make out the buildings in fine detail, but they could hear the joyous laughter and chatter coming from one of the more prominent buildings. Lights flickered in the windows as people passed by them. The smell of hard wheat liquor wafted through the air. A few yards from the entrance to the building, Varric stopped short and turned his gaze to his female companion. "I don't think this is a good idea."

Leliana looked down at him quizzically. "What do you mean, Varric? We are simply going to get a room for the night so we can stock up on supplies in the morning."

"No, I don't mean going into the tavern," Varric said, narrowing his gaze to Shale who was slumped down on the ground. "I think it's a bad idea to bring a two ton talking rock in a tavern full of humans. They would probably you're a witch and string you up by your toes."

Leliana clicked her tongue a few times, mulling over the thought. "Yes, I suppose you are right." She took a deep breath and walked over to what appeared to be a boulder. It moved abruptly and stood up, the white's of it's eyes glaring down at the small female.

With a huff, Shale turned and stomped off towards the stable next to the tavern. Varric cringed after hearing a horse neigh in surprise and a certain golem barking at the feeble creature. The noise quickly dissipated, leaving the two rogues pondering about what happened. Leliana stared at the stable for some time before speaking. "Do you think that Shale…"

"No," Varric held up his hand and shook his head, "let's not go there until I have a few drinks in me."

"As long as it's not dwarven ale. I had a thimble of that once and woke up a week later with nothing on but my shoes and a towel." They made their way into the tavern. Opening the door, they were hit with a shroud of heat coming from the fireplace and the twenty bodies that packed themselves inside. A man called from the other side of the room in a husky voice for them to "shut the blighted door".

Varric scanned the room for an empty table. He signaled the barmaid as the two sat down in a vacant table in the corner of the room. The barmaid's apron was covered in grit and alcohol stains, her dark hair thrown into a bun and her face was drenched in sweat from the heat and running around. Still, she plastered a smile on her face as she got to the table after serving four drinks to the rowdy group adjacent to them. Her accent was thick with country life and her prominent tummy, no doubt bearing a farm worker's child, hovered over the sticky wooden surface. "Wha' kin I git for ya, loves?"

"Actually," Leliana rummaged through her pack, pulling out an old worn lute, "let's make a deal."

The barmaid eyed the instrument, her fake smile quickly turning into one of glee. "Oh! A minstrel are ya? I'll go talk to me pa and see if he wishes some music for the crowd." The girl spun around, minding her tummy, and quickly wobbled off towards the bartender.

Varric leaned his head into his hand, eying the lute in the woman's hands. "Where did you stash that thing?"

Leliana giggled, flicking each of the strings to make sure the tuning was just right. "It's very compact. Just one of the reasons why I've kept it for long."

"And the other reason?"

Leliana took a cloth from her pack and rubbed the wood fondly. The dwarf reached down into his belt and took out a small corked bottle, handing it to her. She nodded her thanks and poured a small amount onto the cloth and continued to polish the lute with the same liquid that Varric used so often on Bianca. Handing the liquid back, clearly satisfied by her work, she smiled. "The Hero of Ferelden gave it to me during the blight. It was the most thoughtful gesture anyone has ever done for me. I often spoke about my love of music and story-telling, so one day after we got back from Redcliff, he handed me a large and poorly wrapped package. I was so excited by just the thought of him getting me something, that I burst into tears when I tore the paper open and saw what was inside." A little of that emotion she felt that day seeped through as she brushed a small tear from her eye. "It's… it's not as pretty as it was back then. The paint eventually chipped and some strings broke. I've even had to repair some of the body when it got damaged during battle. But I could never bring myself to replace it."

Varric nodded lightly as he knew a similar feeling. Bianca was old, about thirteen years old, in fact. She had chips and he often had to repair her and replace her parts. Sometimes her spring would fail to release, costing him precious seconds during a fight. But he was hers, no one else's. He had seen her father die from insanity, killed him with his own creation. "I might be wrong, but it seems like you had more feelings for your Warden than you would like to admit."

"That is none of your business," Leliana said sharply to the dwarf. Varric grumbled to himself as the barmaid approached the table once more, a wide smile on her face.

"Me pa says tha' if ya will, he wishes ya to sing and ya would be paid in a room and whatever drinks and food ya wish." Leliana nodded and gladly accepted the offer, standing and walking over to the front of the bar where the bartender was setting up a stool for her to sit. Gracefully, she positioned herself on the stool, lute in hand, and began to strum a tune to test her strings. The crowd around her went silent and twenty-two eyes fell on the small, red haired woman with the lute.

She cleared her throat and took a sip of the water provided for her. Her hands fell into a gentle rhythm against the strings, her mouth opening as a beautiful voice of the Bard filled the walls of the tavern.

"_It was said in times of old_

_Ferelden was just a land, harsh and cold_

_She was filled with barbarous men_

_But they would fight until the end_

_Then Calenhad took the reigns_

_And the fortress of Redcliff they did claim_

_All bowed before their new King_

_At the Landsmeet was born the line of Theirin" _

Her tune quickly turned into a jaunty one that had all the hands clapping and feet stomping against the floor as the patrons sang the chorus.

"_We are Ferelden, free and strong_

_Not even Orlesian's can steal our song_

_Of battle cries and strong rule_

_We killed that Orlesian fool"_

The tune died down, as did the crowd. Usually, the song ended with the chorus, but Leliana was not quite finished.

"_And then the fifth blight came,_

_The Hero at River Dane was ashamed,_

_Of his own King Cailan, and his high hopes,_

_But he was the fool that let his mind go_

_The Hero of Ferelden knew the truth_

_He raised an army, and stopped a civil war to boot_

_At the Landsmeet he made a Theirin King again_

_And went off to slay the Archdemon_

_Never did he falter_

_Even when his life was altered_

_He summoned his spells from across the fade_

_And a legend he was made."_

She looked up to the silent crowd, who were all blinking in surprise at the new addition to the song. In a moment, they roared in applause, tossing coppers at her feet. She smiled at the cheer and began another set of songs. This time, not so heavy, but more happy tales filled with men that lost their boots and the women that scolded them.

By the end of the night, Leliana and Varric stumbled, exhausted, up to the two rooms that they were given. Leliana's purse was heavy with the coin she collected that night, which reminded her of the early start they had in the morning. She bid Varric goodnight and slumped down on her lumpy bed, quickly allowing the fade to catch her.


	6. Hide and Seek

**To answer a question for someone that has their P.M.s disabled- yes, I did make up that song. I was using the history of Ferelden codex as a reference for what Calenhad did four centuries ago. It was said that the only tales they heard of him were through ballads from the bards, and so, there it is. I also thought that piece brought in some of Leliana's character (since in DA: O she had the lute but never actually sung any tales with it.) **

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><p>Morning came and went. The two rogues were able to barter with the tavern owner about buying the horses in the stable- provided they buy the one that mysteriously died on their night of arrival. Varric chose the shorter and skinnier one for himself, as he quickly discovered he could barely get his legs around the normal sized one, let alone ride it.<p>

Once they finally got on their horses, after securing their supplies to them, they took off with Shale trailing not far behind them. He had to give it to the golem, she was large but she was quicker than she appeared. She kept up with the steady trot that Leliana's steed and Varric's pack horse were directed to have. His feet barely reached the holders, so once in a while he would accidentally press his heels into the horses side without intending to, sending him speeding off ahead. Leliana would urge her horse forward and stop them in their tracks, laughing at his incompetence with the beast. Varric would simply straighten himself and ignore the attempts the bard made to make fun of him.

They got to a fork in the road and Varric pulled the left side of his reigns, turning his horses head to that direction and began to set off. A sharp whistle pierced his ears and he halted his horse, looking back at the source of the noise. He opened his mouth to say something, but was quickly silenced by Leliana holding her hand up. She appeared to be staring off in the distance, tilting her head to hear better. Hooves thudded against the ground and a cloud of dust emerged over the horizon. Leliana's eyes widened and silently commanded them to hide in the nearby foliage. They hopped down from their horses, urging them deeper into the forest and quickly tying their reigns to tree limbs. Shale trudged to a more rocky area and curled herself up so the crystals on her surface would go unnoticed. Leliana and Varric went into their rogue forms, their figures blending into the bushes.

The gaits of the horses grew closer and the men that rode them were now visible. The glittering of their silver armor stung Varric's eyes as he looked directly at them. The men halted with a hand signal from a man in heavier armor. One of the horses hooves was dangerously close to the bush Varric was concealed behind. The Captain looked around, his heavy-plated helmet obscuring any facial details. One of the smaller recruits rode up next to him, the helmet making his voice raspy. "What is it Captain?"

The Captain moved his head around a few more times, and for a few moments, he seemed like he was staring at Leliana. A lump formed in Varric's throat, sweat formed on his brow. No doubt these men worked with the Seekers, and Leliana had ditched her armor back in town for simple studded leathers so telling them she was escorting a prisoner would not work. He felt himself exhale sharply as the Captain shook his head and looked at his recruit. "Nothing. I thought I saw something here earlier. Come now, Cassandra is waiting for our reports of how the circle is holding up. And we all know how she gets when she's left waiting." The men let out a collective grumble and began trotting on once more. When they were far beyond the horizon, the three emerged from their cover, leading their horses out.

Varric looked over to Leliana as she was adjusting the straps on her horse. She kneed it, making the horse release it's supply of air, before quickly tightening the saddle. She raised her eyebrow when she caught the dwarf staring at her. "Yes? Something on your mind?"

"Well, I was just wondering," he fiddled with his own horses straps, "do we plan on hiding from all the Templars? Or just those ones in particular?"

"We do not yet know the situation in Ferelden. As far as I know, Alistair has been able to keep the peace with the Templars, and so the circle has remained in tact." She placed one foot on the saddle strap and hopped up, swinging the other one over until she was securely on the horse. "But anything could have changed in the time we were gone. They know your face, and they know mine. It is best to be precautious in these dark times."

Varric nodded, agreeing with her ideas and hobbled up on his own horse. He looked at the path that the Templars had come from. "I don't think it's a good idea, then, to go the same route that our shiny friends were coming from. We should avoid towns and cities as much as possible since those are commonly traveled." Leliana nodded as Varric unfolded the map that he kept in his loosely tied shirt. "According to this, we can either go through the Bannorn or the Brecillian Forest."

"Then we go through the Bannorn," Leliana said without a second thought.

"But," Varric protested, "the Brecillian Forest is closer and there is a less of a chance that we will be seen. The Bannorn seems like it's wide open country, and that's not a good terrain for a game of hide-and-seek."

"It does not matter to me. What will the squishy creatures do if they spot me? Scream my ears off and hit me with their metal sticks?" Shale trudged up next to the debating duo, wanting her opinion to be heard.

Varric snorted, "They would probably mistake you for a giant boulder and relieve themselves on you."

Shale recoiled in disgust. "Absolutely not!" She turned her head towards Leliana while pointing to Varric, "I agree with the Chatty Dwarf. The Sister should go towards the forest."

Leliana regarded them both for some time before pressing her heels into the side of her horse, heading towards the right of the fork in the road. "We go through the Bannorn."

Varric and Shale passed a look between each other and shrugged simultaneously. Shale walked ahead of him, leaving Varric to think on Leliana's persistence of passing up the forest. Why would she choose such a long path? If Varric was taller and stood on his horse, which in turn was being held up by Shale, he bet he could see the Brecillian forest from where he was. But the Bannorn? That was days away, a week even. They were looking at two weeks total added to their travel time. So why would the Bard avoid the forest? Varric was going to find out, but in due time. He knew he couldn't get any answers from Leliana right away. She was too secretive, no matter how much sly talk he did. He still didn't even know why she had taken him along. Clearly, Leliana was capable of handling herself, so why risk bringing someone else?

His head spun with so many questions, so many possibilities to the Bard's reasoning. He brought his hand up and pinched the bridge of his nose to stop the headache. "One thing at a time, Varric." He let out a deep breath, and grabbed loosely onto his reigns. With a soft touch, the horse trotted forward to join the rest of the group. Leliana had stopped to wait for him.

"What were you doing?" Leliana raised an eyebrow at him as they began to ride together.

"My horse's legs are short, they take a while to catch up." Leliana scrunched her eyebrows together and waved off the topic. She was just happy that he wasn't putting up much of an argument against her for choosing the way of the Bannorn. She knew that it wasn't the right choice, she knew that she was putting everyone at risk, but Maker… she just couldn't go through the forest just yet. It wasn't the time nor the place to bring herself into that situation. Especially not with Varric analyzing her every move. No, she had to play it safe and follow through on her original plan, even if it meant taking such a long detour.

Night came quicker than they had anticipated. They set up camp in the forest that they had stayed close to. A small clearing was made by Shale and they began to set up their tents. The horses were tied off in a grassy area to feed themselves after they were given water. Varric prepared a small fire, only barely big enough to warm up a stew that Leliana had prepared. It provided no extra heat to shield them from the harsh Ferelden wind that sifted it's way through the trees.

After dinner, they retreated to their tents, confident in the golem's ability to keep watch all night. Varric lit a small candle and held it up to the map he had laid out in front of him. With a piece of coal, he marked the direction they were going in compared to the direction of the Templars. By his calculations, using the rumors from a few travelers they had passed on the road, he estimated that by the time they reached the Bannorn, the league of Templars would be just passing through. Over half of the Circle's supply of Templars were said to be headed to the castle to petition the King for soldiers at the Circle. Why they needed so many Templar's to do a single messenger's job, he had no idea. But this meant trouble for them if they should encounter the Templars. Hopefully, this was enough to convince Leliana to turn back and go through the forest while they still had time.

Hopefully.

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><p><strong>This part is a little serious, but I had to even it out from the last chapter. I'm throwing out fractions of information that may or may not tie together later on in the story. You will just have to wait to see what exactly Leliana is up to. That sneaky little Bard.<strong>

**Poor Varric, he doesn't know what exactly he has gotten himself into.**


	7. King's Request

It was a hard thing to accept, this almost unavoidable change in his life. One moment he was a petty servant to the Chevaliers, the next he was traveling into Ferelden with two dwarven merchants he barely knew. And the journey wasn't exactly the easiest thing to endure.

Several times they were stopped by Ferelden soldiers, asking for papers verifying that they were allowed within the country after passing through the border along the Frostback Mountains. Bodahn, the elder dwarf's name, had managed to forge Andre's name onto the papers. There were flaws in the forgery, of course, but the soldiers weren't paid to determine whether or not it was an actual signature, just that they King's seal was in place.

They had been traveling for nearly a week, now making their way around Lake Calenhad, named after the late King Calenhad after he united the once barbarian lands. The atmosphere was cold as the wind would pick up and blow the air of the lake towards them, which still retained the bitterness of the winter long since past. Even from the distance that they were at, Kinloch Hold still made Andre nervous. The thought of being locked away for the rest of his life left a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He should have been more reassured, since the smaller dwarf, Sandal, gave him an enchanted rune to help hide his magic in case he accidentally released it. It had been building up for years, so who knew when it would come out. And if the Templars sensed it? No, that thought was even too much for him to bear.

It was getting late and Bodahn suggested they rest the ox that was driving their cart and set up camp. Reluctantly, Andre hopped down from the back of the cart and began to help unload their camping gear while throwing a tarp over the cart itself. Sandal was busying himself by helping his "father" unhinge the ox to allow it to graze. Andre tightened the straps connecting the cart to the tarp and began to pick up some of their tents to lug it over to the softer grass area.

"Just set up the one tent for yourself. The boy and I will be happy to sleep under the stars for once," Bodahn commented after watering his ox and picking up stones to create a fire pit. Andre looked around and unceremoniously dropped all the equipment on the ground. He kneeled down and began to untie the bedrolls as Bodahn and Sandal set the stone in place for the fire. Taking some dried wood out of his roll, he shook it to get all the dirt out of it and began to place the wood inside the pit. He waited for Bodahn to light his flint and begin the pain-staking process of maintaining the fire, but it never happened.

"No fire tonight," Andre questioned the dwarf, unsurprised if it were so since often they had to go without fire in hostile territories.

"Fire," Sandal clapped and jumped around happily after pointing to Andre.

Andre quirked an eyebrow at Sandal and turned his head toward Bodahn. "Fire?"

"I believe my boy wants you to light the fire this time," Bodahn stated simply to justify the strange behavior of his son.

"But," Andre gestured to the shadowing tower in the distance, "this isn't exactly the best place for me to conjure anything."

"Enchantment!" Sandal walked over to Andre and tapped the rune that held Andre's cloak together.

Andre looked down at it, confused, until he remembered what Sandal had made it for. "Oh!" He touched the rune, which glowed in response to his magic. "I had forgotten about this. Do you think it will work?" He glanced over to Bodahn when posing this question. The dwarf shrugged in response and sat down on the grass.

"We can only know if you try."

Andre nodded and breathed out heavily. He shook his hands and craned his neck, trying to relax since it had been a long time since he had summoned magic willingly. When he was younger, his sister had found out about his magic and kept him hidden away, ashamed of his blood; ashamed of what he had done the first time he released his power. It had been called an accident, made by a poorly placed lantern. But the memories of him desperately trying to conjure a cold spell, or poor the water from the troughs onto the flaming barn to soothe the monster that ate away at the flesh of his parents, stayed with him. From then on he was forced into isolation, the only other face he saw was his sister's.

She always had control over his life, right up until Lord De Prevot was murdered and he was set free from his command. And now, he was free to release the thing he held inside of him for so long.

Kneeling next to the fire-pit, Andre held out his hands awkwardly. He had seen some of the battle mages practicing in the fields, the ones that had their freedom since they were used for war so the mage fighting was irrelevant to them, so he attempted to mock their movements at the time, without calling forth from the Fade. It had involved a lot of chanting and flicks of the wrist, but Andre seemed to recall some of it. From the corner of his eye, he saw Bodahn and Sandal watching him expectantly. "Um," he gulped and cleared his throat, "you might want to stand back. This thing could go anywhere."

"Bah, no worries," Bodahn said, waving it off. "We're dwarves, practically immune to your magic. Once you start burning armies of darkspawn, then we will be worried."

Andre drew his eyebrows together and shook his head, bewildered at the fact that the dwarf showed no signs of fear. It was something he wasn't used to, to say the least. He focused his attention back onto the still forms of the stacked wood. _Imagine the fire passing through you and at your target_, he could still hear the enchanter say during the practice on the fields.

Gulping, he imagined the Fade surrounding him. The dark camp, wagon and dwarves became just a shrouded blur as his focus became more intense. White encased everything except for him and the unheated pit. Voices tried to penetrate his ears, luring him into the dark corners of the Fade. He twitched, resisting the temptation to follow the sweet sounds and promises. Instead, Andre focused on the task at hand: lighting this damn fire.

The invocation that the enchanter spoke in Arcanum flooded through his veins as he repeated the words out loud. Over and over again he chanted, until he was saying them with perfect clarity. The Fade began to dissipate as it appeared to almost curl up and lunge itself into him. The remaining white aura formed into small lines of energy, dancing around Andre's fingers. Clarity struck the camp once more as Andre channeled the wave of energy received from the Fade into his hands, making them light with a wild blue fire. Opening the eyes that he had unknowingly shut, he flicked his fingers down towards the pit. Small amount of fire trickled down until the magical fire licked at the wood, catching it as it spread.

Andre let out a sigh of relief when the flames took, until he noticed he was still holding the flame. He pushed his feet back, allowing himself to fall flat on his backside, and shook his hands violently. When the last amount of fire was gone, he slumped and rolled onto his side, snorting at the laughter coming from the older dwarf as he had witnessed this scene. "It's not funny, you know! That was very difficult."

"Oh, I'm sure. Lighting yourself on fire is a pretty big accomplishment," Bodahn joked as he overturned a charred log.

Andre was about to retort but was interrupted by a loud growling sound. He rolled on his back and pushed himself up to sit. Sandal patted his stomach and grimaced, "hungry."

"I'll start dinner," Andre said while retaining a chuckle.

The stew was not as filling as they would have liked it to be. One of their main reasons for heading to Redcliffe was to stock up on supplies for making another trip, possibly to another country altogether. So their stew was made up of whatever rations they could spare, sided with some tasteless doughy bread that was perfect for soaking up the juice at the bottom of their bowls.

With heavy eyes, Andre laid his head down to rest. The Fade did not bring him sweet darkness that night. Instead, his mind was plagued with the horrors of his past.

_He was hidden. The dark corners of the wagon that his sister had bought were not foreign to him. Sometimes she let him out, to see the forest of Orlais and even fetch a thing or two from the stalls, but no more than that. The carriage stopped. He heard his sister getting off the front reigns and walking towards the back, her feet crunching against the stone road. The flaps opened, and Andre shielded his eyes from the sudden brightness of the sun. "We're here," she said, her golden eyes shimmering in contrast to her black hair. Andre scrambled out of the wagon, still covering his eyes until they adjusted to the light. When he stepped down from the wagon, a man in bright clothing stood in front of him. _

_For a moment, he thought of retreating until a reassuring hand landed on his shoulder from his sister. She brought her lips close to his ear and whispered, "It's going to be alright, Andre. He's going to help you while I go away for a while." He gulped down a large lump in his throat and nodded._

_The man held out his hand, a fake smile plastered on his face. "Ah, so you're the one I was told about. You look like a strong boy. It will be a pleasure having you under me." Andre slowly and hesitantly raised his hand, gripping the man's lightly. "My name is Lord Gautier De Prevot."_

Andre awoke with a sweat. Screaming filled his ears. To his relief, he found it was not his own this time. Instead he looked off into the distance, where torched grass lit up the dark area. Men in heavy armor pushed against a smaller force. Blood was spilling before his eyes. It wasn't screams he was hearing, it was battle cries. A small built, red-haired woman fired shots off her long bow aside a lightly armored dwarf. Unmarked soldiers protected them from the charging Templars, who tried unsuccessfully to break their line.

Another heavily armored soldier of the resistance lunged at them, barreling them down with their shield before jamming their sword into them. Andre found that he had stood up and began creeping over to get a better look. When he did so, he saw that a Templar had swung off to the side to flank the dwarf. He looked back to Bodahn and Sandal who also rose to see the commotion. Bodahn waved his hand at him, telling him to get back to the camp, but he couldn't. The Templar was growing closer to a flanking position and if he didn't-

Before he knew it, the Fade was absorbed into him once more as he reached out his hand, to the swinging Templar. It released itself, surging forth a wave of lightening, knocking the Templar back just enough for the dwarf to acknowledge his presence. The dwarf swung around and cocked back his massive crossbow, sending a bolt through the eye-socket of the Templar.

The red-haired woman sent off her own arrows at the other opposing men, damaging enough of them that the heavy-armored, shield-bashing soldier could decapitate them before they even knew what happened. Some of the resistance fell to their own deaths as a raging Templar began to violently swing his blade, realizing he was the last to stand. "You don't have to do this," Andre heard the heavy-armored person plead. _Was that a woman? Yes… I think it was. _

The Templar ignored her cries of warning and instead turned his gaze towards her. "You didn't have to interfere," the Templar growled before charging towards the woman once more. She held up her shield and stumbled back as the force of the blade bounced of it. She pulled her shield back to swing her blade, which locked with the Templar's.

"I refuse to allow innocents to die!" The woman pushed back on her blade, causing the man to falter backwards. Andre looked around the group to see if her companions would interfere, but they just stood by and watched. _Why won't they help her?_

The man regained his bearings and lunged forward, arcing his blade upwards to allow for a more powerful impact. He heaved it down towards her helmet as she frantically put up her shield to protect herself. It was too late, he saw, as the blade quickly moved downward, striking her arm and causing her to crash down on the grass. The Templar towered over her, clutching his blade tightly. "Mages are the Maker's punishment to the world. They deserve no less than what we give them." He raised his sword to a vertical plunge over her. As he was about to strike her down, Andre saw the point of a blade piercing through his side.

He dropped his sword and staggered backwards, allowing the blade to slide off, grasping onto his side. Blood pooled around the wound, far more than what he needed within him to survive. He dropped to his knees and used his free hand to remove his helmet. Sweat kept his hair plastered to his head, his face was red from exhaustion but pale in some spots from blood loss. Andre's eyes widened as he realized this man was no older than he was. Fresh out of recruitment, most likely. The woman seemed to realize it too as her look of anger turned into pity.

Andre grew closer as the woman took off her own helmet, revealing red hair and a freckled face, and kneeled down to the Templar. "Let go of this hate that you have. You fought well and brave, defending what you believed was right. But now you're dying. Leave this hatred behind you as you go wherever it is you are going. It's no use there."

He clutched his side and screamed in pain, keeling over to lay on the ground. "Maker save you," he whispered to the woman as he slowly drifted off to the Maker's side.

The woman shook her head sorrowfully and stood up. She looked over to the soldiers and her companions. "Let's move out."

"Wait a minute, Aveline," the dwarf chimed in. He looked over to Andre and nodded his head towards him. "I think we ought to thank the guy who blasted Mr. Stabby behind me."

Andre stepped back in shock as the red-haired archer, Aveline and the dwarf strutted towards him. He looked around for a place to hide but cursed himself as he found nowhere within range. Andre looked behind him as he heard the footsteps of the merchant dwarves approach as well. "Messere Varric! Messere Aveline! Oh! And Lady Leliana! What a pleasant surprise," Bodahn said cheerfully as he stopped next to Andre.

"Haha, Bodahn you old dog! What brings you back to Ferelden?" Varric laughed and clapped his hand against Bodahn's back, making his stagger forward from the impact.

He rubbed his back thoughtfully as he regained his composure. "Business as usual. War really makes the sales go up."

"Heh, I knew I liked you," Varric jested before turning his attention back to Andre. "So, ah-"

"Are you an apostate," Leliana questioned before Varric got the chance.

"I, um-" Andre stuttered before Bodahn took over.

"The boy is a mage, yes. He's still trying to get used to his magic, however. With some training he might be more capable." He could tell that Bodahn was persuading them, but for what? Did he expect Andre to just up and join a group of people that he had never met before? Ones that he just saw attack Templars head on? He wasn't ready for that…

Not like he had any say in the matter, as they were discussing it while he was trying to gather his thoughts.

"So, you come with us, we get Sparky some training, and you will give us a discount on wares?" Varric had his hand on his chin as he pondered the idea. He looked to Leliana who just shrugged.

"Oh of course, messere. I never break my deals."

"Alright, Bodahn, you have a deal," Aveline said while extending her hand.

Bodahn took it and shook it excitingly. "Oh, thank you messere! It's always such a relief traveling with fighters, such as yourselves, through these dark times."

"Do you mind remaining here for a while? We have to secure the tower and it would be safer for you down here."

"I think we should bring the mage with us," Leliana commented as she studied Andre. "Maybe some of the mages there will be willing to train him."

"Can I have a name, or will you be calling me 'the mage' the entire time," Andre questioned the three in front of him.

"Depends if I like the name, Sparky." Varric had already given him a name, whether he liked it or not.

"It's Andre. And I'm not sure I would be very useful in the tower-"

"Well, you need training and the mages in there would be more willing to provide it for you if you helped them." Aveline was not too fond of the idea, herself, but she would never pass up the opportunity for more assistance.

Andre sighed. "I don't have much choice, do I?"

"Heh," Varric let out a small laugh and patted Andre on his arm, "we never do."


	8. Campfire Discussion

**This was a little less elaborate than I wanted it to be, but I was having a hard time piecing it together due to lack of sleep and caffeine deprivation. So I may re-write this to be a little more detailed (if you think I should). Probably will post a note in the next chapter saying that I did so if that happens. Oh, and just so you all know, I read these things just like you all do by pretending like I have no idea what's going on (sometimes I don't... aha...) and I go back and edit what I don't like quite frequently after I post it, but it's usually not major to the story-line, just me nit-picking. I'm my own worst critic.**

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><p>Varric paced back and forth within the camp. They had reached the Bannorn quicker than he expected. Hopefully, this meant that they would avoid the inevitable. When he had given Leliana the information that he gathered, instead of turning back she pressed harder on the path that they were on currently. Shale was sent ahead to give a message to someone, but who? Leliana would not say, and it was really getting under Varric's skin. He heard footsteps approaching and quickly stopped pacing, looking over in the direction they were coming from.<p>

"I apologize." Leliana sat down on a log and began to poke the small fire with a stick. She focused on her task, turning over logs and pushing embers to spots where the wood did not burn. Varric let out a breath and sat down on a rock adjacent to her log.

"Oh, no worries. Forgive and forget, right?" He clicked his tongue a few times, "but, before I forget… what should I forgive you for?"

Leliana's shoulders slumped down as the weight of the situation was taking it's toll. "For deceiving you." She glanced over at him as he tilted his head. "I know that you have been suspicious of me and my actions. And it is not without cause."

Varric shrugged and flicked his eyes towards the fire. "You didn't deceive me. I knew what I was getting into, which was the fact that I had no idea what I was getting into," he chuckled, "If that makes any sense."

A wry smile flung itself onto Leliana's face. "It does, sort of. But," she straightened herself and flicked the dirt from under her finger nails, "that's not what I'm talking about. Remember how I told you that your friend was here?"

"Yes," Varric said, nodding slowly.

"Well," she sighed heavily, "that's why I didn't want to go into the Brecillian Forest." She winced as if she was expecting a blow to the face, a harsh scolding… instead, there was a hearty laugh and a dwarf falling to the ground, clutching his stomach.

"That's," he heaved air in so he could speak, "why you were avoiding going there?" Pushing himself off the ground, Varric sat with his legs crossed on the dirt ground, releasing the last few chuckles before calming down. He looked at her with a large grin on his face. "You know, Sister, for a Bard, you really don't know how to read people."

She raised an eyebrow at him, regarding him with a confused look. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, that wouldn't have gotten me angry if you just _told_ me that. All this secrecy made me think you were going to sell me to some merchants, throw me in the dungeons, kill me or worse- hand me back to the Seeker."

Leliana shook her head in amazement. "Once again, I have underestimated you, Varric. You seem to understand more than I allow myself to believe."

Varric let out a small laugh, "I can safely say that you are the first person to _underestimate_ me, besides the Merchant's Guild, of course. But, you know, I have to wonder why you have all this wariness around me when you're the one that brought me with you."

"Sometimes you just have to have faith, Varric."

"Ah, so it's the whole 'take a leap over a dark ledge and hope there's another side' thing?"

Leliana touched her chin and nodded. "Yes, I suppose so. That, and why wouldn't two people who had the same goals work with each other?"

His eyebrow raised slightly as he leaned his back against the rock. "And what goals do 'we' have?"

"To change the way the mages are treated, of course. Or have I got this wrong?"

He sighed lightly, "You don't have it right or wrong. I never really wanted to get involved with that whole thing. To be honest, it was just a good story that I couldn't let go and the heroine happened to be a very good friend of mine."

"You," she drew her eyebrows together, scrutinizing him, "have never once asked yourself if what the Champion did was the right thing? Didn't you ever have an opinion on the matter?"

"Sister," he said while searching his pack for a flask of water, "I'm a story-teller. We're not allowed to have opinions, just observe our surroundings so we can tell the events to those willing to listen. What would my story been like if I threw my opinions in there?" He let out a light laugh, "I'd be a preacher, not an entertainer."

"I… suppose you are right." She took the flask from him after he had taken a large sip. The water held a leathery taste from being inside the pouch for too long. She made a mental note to search for fresh water to replace it. "So you have no interest in the war?"

"Now now, I didn't say that exactly," he took the flask back and pushed the cork back in, replacing it in his pack, "I have plenty of interest in the war, they make for fantastic stories. But when it comes down to it, I will always choose the side that the hero will be on. You know, for a dramatic finish."

"You- you don't think _I'm_ the hero, do you?" She gave him a bewildered glance after tossing another few branches into the fire.

Varric's hearty laugh filled the silent camp and patted her reassuringly on her arm, "don't you worry about that, Sister. The hero of the story usually doesn't come in until a little later. You should know that because, as I recall, you and I aren't so different. You just seem to lead with more emotion than I think is necessary and put in your opinions that may or may not alter the hero's decision."

"Everyone has a right to an opinion, Varric, and we have the right to express them. Story-teller or no."

"Yeah, well I categorize opinions into two separate types. The first type are helpful opinions such as-'just my opinion but I think if you don't get out of the way your face is going to be on fire!'; the second type of opinions could really be translated as anything because it depends on the person giving it. An example of this would be 'just my opinion, but you shouldn't sleep with that whore. They're filled with diseases.' Now, that's just rude and accusatory. What if that whore was fairly new and saw a good healer on a regular basis? Opinions are opinions, whores are whores and people that shove their opinions down each others throats are no better than the whores that get things shoved down their throats."

Her face scrunched with the picture in her mind that he had given her. She quickly shook it off and got back on topic. "So," her tone was heavy as she pieced together what he was saying, trying to find the underlying message, "you can't tell me that you have never voiced your opinion."

Varric scoffed and placed his hand on his chest, an o formed with his lips. "Me? No, of course not. I just give… suggestions and advice."

"And this advice has never influenced people's decisions?"

He tapped his finger on his chin, his eyes searching back to his time in Kirkwall. "Mmm… no. Usually the people I gave my advice to died a few minutes later."

"So, you giving advice to the Champion for her to raise coin to join the Deep Roads Expedition doesn't count?"

He waved his hand at her, gathered his pack and stood up. "That doesn't count. It was more of forming a partnership than anything."

She quirked an eyebrow at him and said dryly, "a partnership?"

Varric nodded curtly and began to hobble his way over to his makeshift tent. "Yup. Now, I'm going to get some sleep, unless you have an opinion against that."

Leliana let out a small growl of annoyance which only increased as she heard the dwarf laugh.

A few hours passed as Leliana stood her watch. She listened and grew familiar with the sounds of the night birds, the rustling of trees as small animals climbed up them and… hoof beats. Slowly, Leliana stood up, grabbing her bow that she had been fine-tuning and strapped her quiver of arrows to her back. Checking her belt for her throwing knives, she made her way to the edge of the clearing. The hoof beats stopped as Leliana entered the dense forest. Silently, as she rounded a tree, she slipped an arrow from her back and nocked it in her bowstring. She used the tip of her arrow to search the surrounding area.

Ruffles of leaves and the small sounds of ruffled curses could be heard from the point where the sounds of the horse came from. Leliana slowly stepped over fallen branches, placing her feet strategically under the dry leaves on the ground to prevent any sound. Small slits of light from the moon shined through the tree tops, allowing her eyes to search the forest with ease. She spotted a swaying white hair from the corner of her eye. Leliana shifted, moving more into the shadows to get a better look. A mud-brown horse with white hair obscured her vision. _Alright… there's the horse. But where's the rider?_

Before she could react, a sharp pain went across her throat. Her arms were held against her by one of her attacker's arms. She dropped her bow in shock, but gathered herself together enough to slam the back of her head against her attacker's face. Immediately, the blade across her throat dropped, as well as the arm that pinned her down. She acted quickly, drawing the small dagger at her side and swinging it as she spun around to face the person. Her blade was blocked by a silver long-sword. She drew her second dagger and swung it again, the face of her attacker still in the shadows. That one was blocked by a blade half the length of the sword. "Is that how you greet me after all this time?" A dark laugh came from the figure in front of her, and she shook her head at the sound.

"W-what?" Leliana thought she recognized the accent that came forth, but it had been so long since she heard it, she really couldn't be sure. The weight from blocking the attacks had been lifted as her opponent sheathed his weapons. She lowered hers, but still kept a tight grip as her guard had not dropped. The man stepped towards her, making her recoil by a step by his sudden abruptness. As his face hit the light, her eyes traced the tattoo that curved along his cheekbone and up to his light blonde hair that looked like it had been cut short by a dull blade.

She dropped her daggers in shock as she took in all of him. "Zevran? What are you doing here? And why did you attack me?"

Zevran held up his hands and shook his head, his chest rumbling as he laughed. "What? No hello? I thought you would have been happier to see me, no?"

She placed her hand on her forehead, suddenly having a headache from recovering from the shock. "It's not that I'm not happy to see you, Zevran, it's just that it was so unexpected."

He tsked lightly and leaned his shoulder against a nearby tree. "I got bored of waiting. After so many years of running around Thedas, sitting in the South Reach was not exactly my sort of entertainment. And to be completely honest, Fereldens from the south are not what I would call 'pretty'."

Leliana let out a groan as she had realized what she did earlier that day. "I sent Shale to give you a message telling you we would be late."

"Oh," his eyebrows raised as he imagined the golem roaming the country-side, looking for him, "well, we are going to have one angry rock in a few days. I left a note with the tavern owner in case you got there when I left."

"And where exactly were you headed when I heard you stumbling through the woods like a large bear?" She crossed her arms, her eyes roaming over him.

He snickered and waved his hand dramatically. "I have been summoned."

"Where have you been summoned to," she asked, raising an eyebrow at the elf, knowing he wasn't the sort of person who would come and go only if he was told. He was a free spirit, more-so now that he eliminated the guild-masters, the last of the Crows becoming loyal to him, despite his protests. It was difficult for Leliana to even get in contact with Zevran to plan all of this, since he had only recently finished his roaming adventure of slaughter.

"Well," he let out a small laugh, "it seems our bastard prince has gotten himself into a little trouble."

"Trouble," she shifted uneasily, "I have not heard anything. What sort of trouble are we talking about?"

"After an incident in his home, he decided to finally take a stand in the war."

"You mean with Orlais?" It was the only war that was currently threatening Ferelden as Alistair had been able to maintain peace with the mages by making Ferelden a haven for apostates. The civil wars occurring in the west were pressing hard on the Ferelden borders as the nobles from Orlais began to collectively agree that they wanted their lands back from Ferelden, and with Empress Celene no where to be found, they had all the authority to do so.

"No," he said simply, not quite knowing why she wouldn't have come to this conclusion in the first place, "Ferelden is going to fight against the Seeker and Templar order."

"Well, that's a twist."

Leliana jumped at the sudden voice, cursing herself for dropping all of her weapons. She looked over at the one who had spoken. "Varric? How long have you been there?"

The dwarf shrugged, stepping forward and nodding his head in greeting to Zevran. "Long enough to know that we don't need to go to the South Reach anymore."

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><p><strong>As I was writing this, I read a review that asked if Zevran was going to make an appearance. I laughed because it was such a big coincidence that at that moment I was writing his part.<strong>

**Shale is going to be so angry she's going to explode into a pile of pebbles, aha.**


	9. Old Hag

"**All of this would have happened whether you were there or not. It is fate. We can not control it, only help it along and stand back to allow another to fulfill his destiny"**

**- Morrigan (Ch. 1)**

"**The hero usually doesn't come in until later, you should know that."**

**- Varric (Ch. 8)**

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><p><strong>~Orlais~<strong>

"There is still no sign of the Empress, my Lord."

A man wearing an intricately woven tunic with bright colors and matching pants, crossed his arms behind his back as he spoke to another man in glittering armor. His simple mask covered any features that were surely obstructed by a ridiculously trimmed mustache. They were in a camp near the border of the heartlands. The Lord had expected that by this time, Celene would have shown herself to stop their pressing attack on Ferelden. Perhaps she was in hiding with the Divine Justina? That would be like her, with such a passive attitude and favorable stance with the dog-lords. During the beginning of the Blight, she had even formed a peace with the late King Cailan, which was a cross move to make against the aristocracy wishes.

Several plots of her death had been discovered over the years, which is why she had often kept herself surrounded by Bards. But now, she was nowhere to be found as the aristocracy forced the nation into a rebellion, leading armies towards the capital. Her estate was found empty, all of her most valuable possessions left behind. It was now occupied by one of the more notable Lords, but this occupancy granted him no rule over the country- just made him an easy target if Celene decided to start pushing back against them.

But she hadn't done that yet, the cowardly dog-lover. The Lord turned to face his messanger, a gold-trimmed mask on his face instead of the matching helmet to his armor. His eyes roamed the camp, only two legions of Chevaliers were currently with them. Word had been sent out to retrieve more, but they were coming slowly as they had to travel through the chaos that was the country-side. So, for now, The Lord Guatier De Prevot was stationed at the border to keep their position secured until the four other legions of Chevaliers arrived.

"Good. Hopefully she would have learned her place by now. And the loyalists?"

The messenger straightened himself and waved his hand, "most are eliminated. The last few are being hunted down as we speak. It appears they have abandoned their lands and took to the forests." Guatier turned his head sharply to the man, indicating his displeasure. "But we have leads on where they are. It's only a matter of time, my Lord."

"Well then," he turned on his heel and headed more inwards to the camp, "you better get to it or your time will run out." 'Don't kill the messenger' was not a term that was familiar among Orlesians.

The camp was not simply soldiers, there were many women and children running around and tending to the duties the Chevaliers believed too petty to partake in themselves. Two dwarven merchants were recently welcomed into the camp a few weeks beforehand. The younger of the two seemed less competent than Guatier would have liked, but he was also the only traveling enchanter in all of Orlais. So, this would have to do. They still had many other merchants that passed through the camp, bringing in useless trinkets that made the soldiers mouth's water at the craftsmanship. Just because they were ready for war, did not mean they were ready to give up their luxurious lifestyle. What were they? Fereldens? Guatier scoffed at the thought and headed towards his tent. He ignored the guards posted outside of it and halted at the flaps. Tapping his foot expectantly, he waited for the flaps to be open for him, which they were.

The tent was filled with plush furniture and fine rugs, fit for a king- or a future Emperor. In the middle of the tent sat a skinny boy, about eighteen, on one of the chairs. His hair showed signs that he had not had a proper bath in a week, his clothes were torn and stained with sweat and blood. The boy straightened to attention as he saw the Lord enter. His dark brown eyes were averted in fear for what the mask man wanted from him. Guatier stopped a few feet away from the boy, analyzing him.

He let out a scoff of disproval, "again, Andre? Again I have shown you nothing but hospitality and you throw it in my face."

Andre looked up at him, a pitiful expression on his face, "but-"

Guatier ceased his speaking with a sharp strike across his face. Andre recoiled in pain, clutching his cheek. "You have no right to speak!" Guatier paced around him, his mask covering any signs of anger so he let his voice do it for him. "You snuck out in the middle of the night and killed one of my best Chevaliers."

Andre bit his tongue hard, fighting the urge to defend himself. The fact that the Lord did not kill him outright was nothing short of a miracle. But he also knew why he didn't. His sister would not take this as a light matter, and he hated the fact that her status kept him from being able to receive his punishment. It was true that he killed the Chevalier, but it wasn't without just cause. The man was seen, by him, beating one of the women servants ruthlessly for not putting enough honey in his tea. So, that night, he took one of the swords that he was tasked to polish, and found him asleep on patrol. He drove the sword through the neck of the man and ran away after he heard him stop gurgling for breath. They found him that morning, curled up in a hole where the horses were kept. His hands were still stained with the blood of the dead Chevalier.

The sight was still fresh in his memory and made his stomach churn. It was the first time that he ever killed someone on purpose. The other times… they were just to horrible to remember. He had hoped that Guatier would finally kill him and relieve him of this horrible thing he called hospitality.

"Now, I can't kill you," The Lord removed his mask and placed it on the desk that laid against one of the tent walls. He turned towards him, his nose appearing to be broken before and his face covered in red marks from wearing the mask all day. The expression he wore was more frightening to Andre than his tone had been previously. It was complacent. He seemed almost happy as he twirled a horse whip in between his fingers. "But I can make it so that you wish you were dead." Guatier raised the whip up above his head and began to bring it down with a force. Andre flinched expectantly, placing his hands out in front of him to stop the inevitable. A frightened "no" escaped his lips as he remembered this scene again and again as this was not the only time he endured these punishments. His eyes that were shut tight, slowly opened as he realized that there was no pain cracking across his face and on his back.

Guatier was still. Ice encased his entire body, a twisted smile still played on his lips. He had not even seen it coming. Did Andre do this? He had not felt the power that he kept at bay for so long swell forth from him. He knew better than to try anything against one as ranked as the Lord De Prevot. He stood up from his seat and cautiously circled around the Lord of Ice, even poking him a few times to make sure it was not some trick. He startled at the sound of a new voice. "He can't get much more frozen, boy."

A woman, an old woman with hair shaped in horns and robes so black they would make the night sky jealous stood at the entrance to the tent. He stepped back cautiously at the sudden appearance of the woman. "W-who are you?"

A small smile creased the wrinkles of her face as she spread her hands, the rings glistening in the torch light. "Why, I'm just a simple observer. I had heard shouting and my curiosity got the better of me."

Andre looked around, wishing that the sword on Guatier's side was not frozen in place as he did not wish to reveal to this stranger that he was a mage by conjuring a spell. "How did you get in here? The camp is guarded by two leagues of Chevaliers."

"How does one get anywhere? I walked, of course."

Andre's eyebrows drew together. He had never seen an old woman like her before. Perhaps it was the anxiety playing tricks on his eyes and ears or a demon trying to coerce him into a deal. He had heard tales of them before. Demons. Traveling through the fade, keeping their distance for a while until you grew desperate enough to require their help, and then they would come and offer you a deal. Was this woman going to offer him one as well? He pointed accusingly at the ice sculpture that was Guatier. "Did you do this?"

The woman thought for a moment before making a simple reply, "Yes."

"Why?"

"Because it didn't seem like you were going to do anything about it."

"How," he shook his head, "did you know I wouldn't?"

"Because, child," she let out a light laugh, "you deny who you are. What you are. How easy would it be for you to give into such temptation when faced with such a threat? Don't grow angry with me for doing something you would not, for setting you free. I can turn him back, if you like."

"No," he said, more hastily than he intended.

The woman let out a chuckle and turned her back, "well then, that's settled. Goodbye."

"Wait!" He reached out for her, grabbing her on her shoulder. She stopped and turned a curious eye to the lad.

"Yes?"

Andre shifted uneasily, "what do I do now?"

"A smart lad like you will be able to figure it out. The world is changing outside of this little camp. People like you are fighting for the freedom that you have always been granted, but refuse to show. Perhaps it's time for you to get out of this fantasy of hoping that if you ignore it, it will go away."

He stepped back, sagging his shoulders. "So you come in here, set me free, as you call it, and expect me to what? Wander away and live a happy life as an apostate?"

Her eyes looked over the boy, judging him, taking him all in. The wheels of her mind turned as she saw something that no ordinary person would be able to see. "Ah," she said before mumbling a few incoherent things to herself. She crossed her arm over her chest and used her other hand to tap her chin lightly. "I can not help you more than I have already. It was chance that brought me here, fate that has set you free and sheer will that will let you live. But there are two merchants within the camp who are setting out tonight. If you ask, I'm sure they would bring you along."

"Where are they going?"

The woman shrugged, opening the flap of the tent to reveal a completely empty camp. "How should I know? I'm no blood mage with an ability to read minds. I'm just an old hag that talks to much and who walks into tents with crazy people in them." She let the flap fall behind her, leaving a disoriented boy standing next to a frozen man.

He had no staff, he had no clothes except for the ones on his back. He had been dragged into the camp with many things, but they were all destroyed by Guatier's violent temper- except for one thing. Andre walked over to the desk, occasionally checking behind him to make sure the statue didn't move, and opened the drawer. He took out an old, leather-bound book. The cover was faded and the seam was torn, but he hugged it fondly to his chest and walked out of the tent. His steps echoed off the trees and empty canvas tents as he made his way to the small fire being put out by an old dwarf and his son.


	10. Arrows of Information

**Two chapters in one day? Yes. I keep getting comments throughout my house about how the only sound you can hear is "tap tap tap tap" from my continuous typing. Oh look, a bed! I think I'll go lay down in it now.**

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><p>"This is just getting weird." Varric filled up the water flasks and put them in each of their packs. Three each, because sometimes when you were hiding, water was hard to come by. The three rogues, a laughable coincidence, were sitting on the edge of a bank, cleaning their weapons, clothes and armor. It was not a foreign idea for people to be stripped down to their breeches for practical purposes, but what Varric wouldn't give for a spare pair of socks. He grimaced at one of them as he wiggled his pinky through the hole. <em>Maybe I can get the Sister to patch it up?<em> The idea played on his mind for a little while before it was interrupted by the splashing of the water as a bundle of cloth was plopped into it.

"It's not weird. It's freeing! Isn't it nice to just strip out of your pesky cloth barriers and just enjoy the breeze flowing freely across your skin?" Zevran had been particularly cheerful since Leliana had found him in the woods the night before. Whether it was because he had been stuck in a run-down tavern for weeks, or it was because he was in the company of a familiar face, Varric didn't know. Zevran's attitude was a welcome change to the atmosphere that had developed over Leliana. She was more serious than Varric liked to be around. He made some hints about loosening her panties from the bunch they seemed to have become ruffled in, but she always shook them off and continued on with a stoic expression.

Varric choked back a laugh as he rung out his pants. "Oh yes, it's so nice to have my testicles turn into ice. Makes me feel right at home."

"That is something I do _not_ want to hear about," Leliana commented from the bushes a few yards away. When she caught Zevran throwing suggestive glances her way as she removed her armor, she thought it best to hide herself from the other two as she cleaned. Leliana had spare clothes, but there was the whole condition of getting them wet while she was cleaning her dirty ones.

"Why not? I hear they're all the rage in Orlais," Zevran said, relishing in the awkward silence he had put the Bard in.

"Aw," Varric pouted as he scrubbed his v-neck tunic, "I think you hit a sore spot with that one, Mud."

Zevran shook his head, bewildered. "Mud? Did you just insult me?"

He snorted, "No. It's more of a compliment. You're slick, smooth and dirty as the void itself."

"Ah," Zevran paused his laundry, wondering if the dwarf was playing with him, "but mud is not as alluring as I am."

"Oh, sure it is!" Varric neatly folded the clothing on top of his pack so it would not soak the things within and would not get any dirt on them. "When you were little, haven't you ever seen a huge puddle of mud and thought 'I bet that I can run through it without even getting any on me.' Next thing you know, you come home soaking wet because the puddle turned out to be two feet deep. And no matter how much your mother scolded you, all you could do was smile because of how much fun you had."

"Oho, now you're saying I make people wet. I like the way you think my dwarven friend."

Varric gathered his pack and clothes and went over to the roaring fire that was set in the middle of their camp. He hung his clothes on a make-shift line for them to dry and sat down on a log, ignoring the uncomfortable feeling of the wood against his skin, and pulled out the piece of paper that he had written on the ship. Leliana, fully dressed, made her way over as well and hung her clothes in a similar fashion. She looked over quizzically at the paper that Varric was holding. "What's that for?"

"Oh this," he held up the paper in question, "just something that I saw when I was on the ship. It's just a list of names, but I can't figure out what they mean."

"Let me see," she held out her hand and took the paper from him. She scanned the document and nodded her head once. "Cassandra was writing down all of our leads. This is just a list of them, nothing special."

"Well," Varric took the paper back, "on the original, names were circled and others were crossed out. What does that mean?"

Leliana adjusted the laundry so it would get more of the hot air that was coming from the fire. Moving over to a padded spot on the ground, she lugged her pack over and took out an apple. "The circled names meant that we knew where they were. The list wasn't done in order. We went to a few people before getting to you, but not the entire list." She began carving the skin off the apple with a small knife, throwing the pieces into the fire and taking the meat for herself.

"So it's possible that the Seeker could still be going after these people?"

"No," she shook her head in protest, "I doubt that she would still continue. It would be a waste of her time-"

"But I heard her say that she was," Varric interrupted, recalling the conversation that had occurred just before Leliana knocked him out.

Leliana drove the knife into the apple, taking off a large chunk. She refused to look at him. "I don't know what she is up to, Varric. She didn't share all of her plans with me."

"But you would know why she would come back to Ferelden, no?" Zevran came back to the camp, wearing his boots and pants, but leaving his shirt slung over his shoulder as he hung his own laundry. Varric nodded to Zevran in approval of his question, finding that he liked the fact that the elf could hear their conversation. It was always nice to have someone else interrogate with you. Leliana grew more uneasy as the subject was approached. Yes, of course she knew why they would head to Ferelden. But it was not in their plans to be running around the country to protect every person on that list.

"There were some details that I was given the privilege of hearing, but they're not important." She had hoped that this would be the end of the conversation, but Varric was persistent when it came to information.

"I'm sorry Sister, but if this involves my friends, I need to know. Even if you think it's unimportant." It was like he could see right through her and her attempt to be coy about the whole thing. But that's what he's been like this entire time, hasn't he? He's been able to see through her charade, because he uses the same one.

Leliana took a deep breath, feeling a lump in her throat as she pieced her words together carefully. "Cassandra is looking for Aveline and Merrill. She intends to interrogate Aveline and… bring Merrill to justice. I suspect that she ordered the Knight-Commander to attack Alistair to get to Aveline. The woman is ruthless in her tactics, and she will not let any information slip past her, as you may know. She also planned on getting to the King to find out where he was hiding Merrill, as he is a sympathizer to apostates and constantly rejected audiences with her. But thank the Maker for that planned failed. It may take some time for her to recover from this upset in her plans."

"Wait," he studied Leliana's expression to make sure she was telling the truth; she was, "why would she need to go through the King to get to Aveline?"

"I suspect this woman is a personal guard for Alistair," Zevran shot a knowing look over to Leliana as he tended to the fire. Leliana nodded slowly, confirming his suspicion.

"In a sense. Just as she was in Kirkwall, she is Guard-Captain in Denerim. We didn't see her while we were there because Alistair assigns her to look after the castle grounds and train the soldiers. Unofficially, she is actually head of the Royal Guard- only not in title to simmer down suspicion of who she is. She is part of the close ring of people who protect the King and Queen."

Varric whistled in astonishment, "big promotion from the guard in Kirkwall."

"Indeed it is. But, unfortunately, the people have learned about her over the years and word leaked out to Cassandra. That's how she found out her location. As for Merrill, well that is a different story."

"A story that I'm interested in hearing." Varric's leg shook in anticipation. This was the first time that he was fully privileged to information, and he was not giving it up.

Leliana sighed, throwing the rest of her long forgotten apple into the fire. She studied the way the flames licked over the surface, teasing the apple until the flames finally consumed it. "There were reports of a small built elf walking along the country-side with a mabari. Slowly, more elves began to follow her as she went into the alienages and began to tell the stories of the Dalish. Rumors suggest that the city elves were so enchanted by these stories, they too wished to live like the Dalish-"

"And because she couldn't go back to her own clan, she formed her own," Varric commented, understanding where she was going.

"Yes," Leliana began again, "They called her _Hahren _and _Keeper_. The storyteller and leader of their clan. When Alistair heard this, he called Merrill to his court and asked her if she would take in elven apostates. She agreed and so Alistair has been protecting their settlement in the Brecillian Forest. But with the Templars pressing efforts and continuous questions, he had to lessen the patrols around the area, making it so that they were at a great risk settling there."

"What a perfect target for an ambush," Zevran mused while pulling his tunic on.

"Well," Varric touched his chin thoughtfully, "Aveline seems to be taking care of herself, but I'm concerned for Daisy. How many people do you think are in her clan now?"

"Perhaps twenty, maybe more, maybe less. It's hard to tell from the rumors. Many of them are still children, or Da'len- as the Dalish call them."

"Ah, being a child does not mean you can't spill blood. Why, I remember my time with the whores," Zevran chuckled at the memory, "I was so furious with another child for stealing my piece of chocolate that I ended up breaking his nose in three places and putting him on bed rest for two weeks!"

"Awe, Mud, and here I thought you spent all your time in dark caves outside of Dalish camps," Varric teased, recalling his first time encountering the assassin.

"Well, I do spend quite a bit of time in dark caves but I doubt that we are speaking of the same thing." Zevran began tossing Varric his mostly dry clothes. Varric cursed as his tunic hit him in the face, but then relished in the fact that he was able to get dressed again.

Wasting no time, Varric and the others set back out on their path. In Leliana's insistence, they were all headed back towards Denerim, though Varric had and itch to swing a right and go down to the forest. But he kept his composure and pushed his worried thoughts to the back of his mind. They could be dealt with later.

Half the day was spent riding on horseback, the dwarf's bum growing numb from so much use and his inability to get used to the trotting pace of the horse. Varric and Zevran mostly passed the time with laughable instances and awkward situations that they had often gotten themselves into. One that Varric found particularly amusing was a tale of Zevran's first mission as a Crow and how he ended up being robbed by an Urchin, left with only his boots on. Leliana would roll her eyes at their childish behavior, but once in a while she let out a small laugh and a smile would appear on that still face of hers. At least with Zevran's presence and the weight lifted off of her by telling Varric some details, she seemed to begin to loosen up.

And that's when they heard the sounds of battle.

Steel against steel, horses neighing in fear as their riders lunged them forth with battle cries. Ten Templars clashed against unmarked, heavy plated warriors. Their shields slammed into one another's as they charged from opposite directions. Leliana and Varric looked at each other as Zevran pulled out his blades, "Finally, some action!"

Zevran leapt off his horse, knowing fully well how difficult it was to battle with two blades atop of one, and headed towards the scene. In a matter of moments, Varric and Leliana followed. Varric pulling out his true love and loading her with a few bolts and Leliana knocking a few arrows at once on her old-fashioned longbow. Standing in the shadows of the large boulders, they made it rain upon that battle. Their arrows covered the sky as they soared together. Many merely bounced off of the Templar's armor and shields, but some struck the horses, knocking the men off and a couple hit vulnerable spots on the Templars. The defending group had their shields up when they were tipped off by an elf lurking among them, so they went unharmed.

The arrows stopped, but the Templars were still frantic. "Men, this is our chance!" A cry was heard from the defending side. "For Ferelden!" A replying cry to the first was heard among the men. They held their swords low as their horses gained speed, the apparent leader of the group slicing off two heads before turning around for another go. The men followed in this example and began to cut them down left and right. Varric looked over to Leliana who was wearing a broad smile. "Tell me, Sister, how is it that they aren't able to… move out of the way?"

"Just a well aimed shot with an arrow dripping in debilitating poison," she said like she was talking about a recipe for a good cookie.

Varric laughed heartily and slapped her gently on the back, "you are one twisted Sister."

They walked over to the bloodstained ground, ridden with the bodies of dead Templars and the frightened horses were scattered as they grazed on the long grass. Zevran appeared from inside the group and joined his comrades as they stopped in front of the one who led the attack. The leader extended their hand to Leliana, their voice muffled by the helmet, "thank you for your help. I don't know if all of us would have survived if it wasn't for your arrows."

Leliana took the hand and shook it lightly, "my pleasure. But it wasn't just me. Zevran warned you of our attack and half those arrows were my friend Varric's."

The leader of the group looked down at the dwarf who bowed at the acknowledgement. He turned his smile to a look of surprise as the heavy-plated warrior removed their helmet, revealing the tied back red hair. "It figures you would be here, Varric."

"Aveline!" Varric clapped his hand against hers in greeting. She nodded to him and then looked around the carnage.

"This isn't the best time for chit-chat."

"Why? What's going on," Leliana's concern rang true as she wasn't completely clear on the events that had been progressing.

"Too much to tell in an instance. We have to move forward and get to the Tower before something terrible happens to the mages."

"Then we will go with you," Varric offered.

"I'm afraid I can not. I have a duty to attend to for Alistair, as I have stated before." Leliana nodded understandingly to Zevran.

"Then you go back to Denerim and we will follow Aveline to check out the tower situation."

"Hold on a minute, I believe I get a say in this," Aveline gave her famous 'don't push me' look as she heard plans being made without her.

Varric gestured his hand to her, not quite sure why she would deny any sort of help. "So, are you saying you don't need us?"

"No, I never said that. I just wanted to make sure I had a say in it. I say you come."

Varric laughed at his friend's forceful comment. She was always a leader, not even Hawke could persuade her out of anything if she felt passionate enough about it. It was nice to know that she didn't change much in her time away from Kirkwall.

So, it was agreed. Zevran decided to head out before nightfall, commenting on how they had wasted enough time as it was. It was an exhilarating waste of time, but still put a pause in their travels. Aveline and Varric sat around a small fire, watching Leliana as she played songs for the soldiers that Aveline had in her troop. "How much do you know about her? I mean, we've met her before, but she's still a Bard."

And there was that protective attitude that Varric loved so much. He ruffled his hand through his hair and went back to polishing his beauty. "Enough to know that we can trust her. She's trying to protect people just like you are, she just has a more secretive approach to it."

"Yes well," she crossed her arms and stared intently at the Bard, "I don't like the secrets. If she wants to help us then why doesn't she just spill it all out?"

"Well, it's just as you said. She's still a Bard." Varric didn't know if he was protecting Leliana's reputation, or protecting his own for allowing himself to be around her for so long.

"I just know how things end up when others keep important details from their comrades."

"Are you still on the whole Rivaini and Qunari thing? I thought you were over that. I'm sure Isabela won't do it again." Varric laughed lightly at the memory of his promiscuous friend.

"No, you're right. She won't." Her face was stern, but her tone held a slight sadness to it.

Varric quirked an eyebrow at the ginger woman, "you sound like you've been keeping tabs on her."

Aveline looked over at him, her eyes held a tint of remorse as the conversation went on. Her voice was heavy as she leaned over and touched his hand with hers. "You don't know, do you?"

Varric recoiled, taking his hand away from hers and growing uneasy at her tone. "Know what," he asked hesitantly, already suspecting he knew the answer.

"Isabela…," her words began to become harder to form, dropping her speech to a whisper so he had to strain to hear, "Isabela is dead."

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><p><strong>Thank you all for your reviews!<strong>

**They keep me going and motivated to know I have support for being so bold like this. To be honest, I'm edging onto DA3 territory and I wasn't sure how well this would go over.**

**I also accept PMs with questions about the story, as long as you don't try to pry me for spoilers. The reason I'm jumping around a bit in what I'm writing about is because all these elements are important to the story. Soon, I can't say how soon, the story will be jumping from what's happening in Denerim and what's happening with Varric and Leliana. But I will be taking a side trip to tell you about the new character.**

**And, since you all have been so gracious in your reviews, I've decided to give you a bit of what's to come by telling you the list of characters I'm using (not in order of appearance, I'll leave that as a surprise and I also won't tell you how involved they will be in the story. Some are more obvious than others.)**

**Varric, Leliana, Aveline, Fenris, Sebastian, Merrill, Alistair, Marian Hawke, Daylen Amell (warden), the child of Morrigan and Amell (currently named 'Baby Mage' since I haven't thought of a name), Morrigan, Flemeth, Teagan, Elissa Cousland (non-warden), Empress Celene, Divine Justina, Cullen, new hero Andre and of course, Zevran.**

**So, I hope that you enjoy the list that I'm using. There are some characters that I might think about using in the future, but I don't want to put them since I'm not sure they will make an appearance or not. Once again, thank you for your support!**


	11. A Touch of Zevran

**I forgot to include Bodahn, Sandal and Shale in that list before. **

**Remember, kids- Nice reviews keep me motivated, but critic reviews keep me coherent.**

**Sorry for not posting this for a while, but revisions always get me a little stuck for some reason. Not to mention work has me dragging my tail home at night so I get wicked tired.**

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><p><strong>~Denerim~<strong>

Alistair stroked his wife's hair fondly as they laid in bed together, her curled up at his side and sleeping soundly. It had been a long few days since the attack. Smoke still hung over the city from all the pyres belonging to his former soldiers. He should be exhausted from all the meetings that he attended and strategies that he was planning, but his mind would not let him accept the fade. His decision haunted him as he thought about the consequences of his harsh choice. Would Ferelden be ready for such a war? It had been nine years since the end of the blight, but some of the taint still held onto their lands, killing many of the crops that farmer's attempted to plant. Their forces hadn't completely replenished, but they had many strong people willing to fight for a cause they believed in.

And then there was the possibility of Orlais attacking them in their time of distraction. He would have to station soldiers along the border to try and hold off any invasion force, but how many could he afford now that he openly declared war against the Templars? Too many possibilities were plaguing his mind, but he had to remember the people he was helping. He was doing this for the sake of freedom, for everything Ferelden stood for. He looked over at his sleeping wife, his eyes softening as he remembered the bundle that was expected. He did this for the sake of his _family_.

Elissa shifted and nuzzled her head against his neck before bringing it up to kiss him on the cheek. "Do try to get some sleep," she mumbled while flopping her head back down to the nook of his neck.

Alistair squeezed gently on her back, "It's not that easy."

"Sure it is. All you have to do is close your eyes."

He shook his head gently and let out an exasperated sigh. "I've tried that a thousand times already. Short of being knocked over the head with a chair, I've attempted everything I can think of."

Elissa let out a small laugh against his neck, he could feel the smile playing on her lips. "Shall I get the chair, then?"

"No," he laughed, hugging her close. "I just can't seem to stop thinking about what's going on."

She shrugged lightly and shifted under the covers. "What is there to worry about? Orlais is nearly on top of us and the Templars and Seekers are on our asses. Nothing you can't handle."

"Right," he said with a humorous tone and a twinge of a smirk, "at least they aren't an Archdemon."

Elissa tapped him lightly on his chest and kissed his neck. "That's the spirit," she jested before moving into a more comfortable sleeping position. "Now, get some sleep before I seriously consider using the chair."

Alistair laughed and rolled over, hugging his wife gently to his chest and kissed her forehead. "I get to choose the chair."

Morning came, and Alistair didn't even remember sleeping. He must of because he didn't notice Elissa getting out of bed. Bleary eyes expecting to open to the sting of sunlight, instead were caught in a vision of short blonde hair. Alistair startled at the sight, knocking himself out of bed and landing on the floor with a thud. He groaned at the impact.

"You never were very gracious for royalty."

He recognized the voice and instantly remembered sending for the assassin. Rolling over to his back, he sat up and rubbed the bump on his forehead. "And you never liked personal space." He looked up to the Antivan who extended his hand to him.

"Oh no, I'm very fond of _personal_ space," he purred while lowering his hand to him.

Taking it, Alistair studied at Zevran as he stood, a twisted expression on his face. "Something's… different about you." Alistair began to rumble with laughter as he spotted it. He keeled over, clutching his stomach and pointing to Zevran. "Your," he let out a bark of laughter, trying to gain his breath back, "your hair!"

Zevran crossed his arms and rolled his eyes, "Yes, yes. Oh it's so funny, says the man wearing nothing but pink breeches."

Alistair's laughter ceased and he straightened, a flush appearing on his face. "That's not funny. They were a gift." Alistair walked over to his armoire and began to rummage through it. He threw some tunics and pants onto the floor before finally picking out ones he liked. Slipping them on, he traveled over to the bed to pull his socks on. "So, how did it get like that?"

Zevran subconsciously rubbed his hand through his short blonde locks. "I'd rather speak about why you have sent for me."

Alistair wiggled his toes as he slipped his socks on. "Hm?" He blinked a few times, trying to remember the exact reason. "Oh," Alistair stood up and walked over to the desk that was pushed against a far wall. He fiddled with the papers stacked on top of it. "I have a need of your services. As you are aware, I seem to have gotten myself into something a little bigger than I am."

Zevran smirked, "a little? I think you are underestimating the situation or overestimating yourself."

Alistair sighed and threw his hands up, "alright! A lot bigger than I am."

The elf nodded curtly, his face growing serious. "Then tell me what you need to be done."

"Follow me," Alistair suggested, waving his hand to him as he glided to the door with a slight royal grace he had drilled into him over the years. Zevran complied after snatching a small sweet roll from a tray recently placed near the door. He took a bite and chewed on it thoughtfully as his eyes roamed the castle. The Royal Bedroom was on the second floor of the castle, close to the wooden railings that overlooked the entrance hall. Originally, it was a guest bedroom, but Alistair wanted to be close in case he was needed- much to Teagan's protests about how he was also a closer target in an invasion. Red and gold carpets overlapped each other on the floor as they took different paths down the halls. Corners of the shining hardwood peeked out from under them.

What caught Zevran's eye, however, wasn't the lavish décor, but the help. Elven and human women alike were running around with freshly cleaned sheets and trays of food. Alistair glided easily around them, but Zevran tripped over his own feet more than once as the younger women crossed his path, carrying trays of the sweets that he just finished eating. "Tell me, Alistair… Do you hand pick these women to serve you?"

"Actually," he stated as he grasped the knob to one of a double door set; to which the Ferelden mabari crest hung on both, "I would prefer they weren't here at all. It's a bit weird to have people serving you cheese on a golden platter."

"Ah," Zevran said casually, gnawing on his thumbnail, "then perhaps I could take some of them off your hands?"

"Let me think about it." Alistair opened the door to the room, which was only lighted by small flickering lamps, and stepped in.

"Really," Zevran followed, his eyes a little shocked at the change of atmosphere but they adjusted quickly.

"Of course not."

"You are a cruel man, you Highness," Zevran said in a light tone.

"Only on Tuesday." The voice came from a chair around a large square table. A wavy-haired brunette sat in a high-backed upholstered chair with her hands folded out in front of her.

"Aww, I thought we sacrificed kittens on Tuesdays." Alistair approached his wife and kissed her head tenderly. He stood next to her chair and motioned for Zevran to join them at the table.

Zevran eyed the colorful marks and figurines strategically placed on the carved and painted wooden surface. He raised his eyebrows slightly, "Someone is planning something highly entertaining."

"Yes, well, chess does get rather boring," Alistair joked while moving one of the figurines a few inches and then back to it's original position.

"Now, Alistair, why would you want to play childish games when you have a bigger prize waiting for you in the bedroom? Or are you unable to 'check' your 'mate' there, as well?" Zevran gestured his hand to Elissa, causing her to scowl and blush in embarrassment.

"What happens in our bedroom is none of your business, Zevran," Elissa retorted with a defensive tone and crossed her arms. Alistair went to interject but was quickly cut off by the suave assassin.

"On the contrary, I was just trying to see if you were in need of my services in that area. Perhaps I could show your husband a few moves that will make the game more exciting. I know one specifically that involve the King moving diag-"

"No! No more of this, please," Alistair begged while holding his head in his hands.

Zevran chuckled and spread his hands, shrugging. "Alright, but if you're ever interested-"

"We won't be," he finalized as he placed his hands down on the table, bowing his head low. Shaking it to ward off the images places in his head by the elf, he sighed deeply and stood straight once more. "If we're done… whatever this was… I have to show you what I have planned."

"Of course," Zevran made a formal bow, "your Majesty. I am at your service."

Elissa sighed and looked up to her husband, "Are you sure you want to involve him?"

He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder and nodded once. "He may be rash, perverse and outspoken, but he's the best we have."

"Well," she curled her hand into a fist and tilted her cheek onto it, "that's a comforting thought."

A small scoff was heard next to them and they both shifted their eyes towards the elf. "I'm right here, you know."

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><p>Colored glass created patterns on the floors of the throne room as the afternoon sun shined through them. The floors had been tirelessly scrubbed, but some blood stains still managed to etch themselves onto the surface, leaving a permanent reminder of what had occurred there. Alistair studied the Warden statue that was erected in Denerim's square, a smaller scaled copy placed behind the thrones of the King and Queen. It was a memory that he could forever recall and one that he could never leave behind. In title, he was King; In a fight, he was a Templar; In heart, he was a Warden.<p>

A sacred code was etched into his soul. Protect Thedas at all costs, whether it was from the Blight, or from something bigger. The faces of Wardens past stared at him from the statue, judging his every move. _Am I doing you proud, Duncan, _he questioned himself as his hand grazed the foot of the statue. His eyes lingered down to the base, where in stone the words of the Joining were carved only on this particular statue. He mumbled them to himself, remembering his own Joining and the Joining of his best friend, Daylen. "Join us brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that can not be forsworn." The end was changed in Alistair's precise instructions. "And as you have perished, know that your sacrifice will never be forgotten. And that one day, I shall join you."

"An interesting recital, to say the least, your Majesty." Alistair brushed a tear from his eye as he turned to face the one that had entered his court. He walked down the newly placed red carpet, towards the black armored woman. A sunburst eye adorned the front of her armor and her weapon sheaths were bare as they were confiscated before entering the grounds.

Alistair nodded his greeting, " Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast, I presume."

The Seeker bowed her head down, recognizing the formality in such a meeting. "I must admit, your Majesty, you surprised me when I received your invitation. After so many attempts to gain an audience, I would never have thought you would request one of your own."

"Yes well," he leaned his arm on the side of his throne, "I don't like doing things that people expect. It gets very boring after a while."

Her golden eyes shimmered over him, scrutinizing his every move, and contrasting her olive skin and short black hair. Even without a weapon, she could still frighten a man with her stare. "Excuse me for being so blunt, but what have you called me here for, your Majesty?"

"I want you to have a chance to redeem yourself, Lady Seeker, before this goes too far," he stated casually, moving his hands to match his words.

"What do you mean," she asked, her stare never faltering as he pushed off the throne and strode towards her.

"I am aware that the Seekers control the Templar Order. I am also aware that the Seekers have abandoned the hand of the Chantry. Which means, any orders that are given to the Templars, especially ones ranked as high as a Knight-Commander, would have to come from a Seeker with a good standing." His head tilted as he crossed his arms. "Such as yourself."

There. For a split second she had broken through her hardened mask and showed her guilt. Alistair almost completely missed it as she reverted back to her stoic form. "Are you accusing me of something, your Majesty?"

He pouted out his lip slightly, frowning at the question. "Not at all. I'm simply telling you what I know. Whether you admit it is not my problem."

"Because you have already made up your mind…," she finished for him.

Alistair shrugged, "Perhaps. But as a King, what do you believe I would be more concerned with? Your petty mage war, or the Orlesian threat to take over Ferelden?" He was acting in the way that many would view a monarch. In truth, he wanted to protect his people from everything, even the mages. But in this instance, he needed to stall her for his plan to proceed- so acting like a conceited King was the first thing that came to mind.

"I can not answer that in a non bias thought process, your Majesty."

"Well, let's play a little game, shall we? Pretend that you are trying to get information on a war and you have leads. But these leads refuse to cooperate no matter how many threats or persuasion techniques you try. What would you do?"

"I would do what was necessary, your Majesty," she stated simply.

"That seems to be a common answer to an uncommon situation." He feet tapped lightly against the floorboards as he began to pace in a small circle. "The last person who told me that they were doing what was necessary, ended up attacking me in this very room. You heard this, I assume?"

Cassandra nodded her head hesitantly, knowing the what she was being accused of. "Yes, everyone within Denerim has heard of this. The Knight-Commander was out of line." She folded her arms behind her back and held her head high as she trusted her manipulating skills.

Alistair stopped and raised an eyebrow, shaking his head. "You are a wonder, Seeker." Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a shadow drifting across the upper level of the room. Cassandra went to question him but was interrupted by him holding up his hand. "We are done here." Turning on his heel, he walked towards the door on the right of the room.

"Wait," Cassandra went to move forward to catch the retreating King. He halted and turned his head to her. "I haven't asked you anything."

"This meeting was not for you. You have said all that I want to hear."

"Which was nothing," she protested, pleading for more time with the King. She had her own questions that needed answering, and Maker knows when she would get another chance to ask them.

Alistair closed his eyes and breathed in heavily. "I will allow you one question, or one statement. Whichever you prefer."

She battled with herself over what to ask. A few questions popped in her mind involving the attack, and another came out more abruptly as she saw him begin to walk once more, growing impatient with the Seeker. "He was your best friend. You know him better than anyone else. Where is he?"

A twinge of sadness creased Alistair's face, his shoulders slumping, as he continued in his step. "He's probably with Morrigan."

"But," the Seeker shook her head and drew her eyebrows together, "where is Morrigan?"

Alistair opened the door and allowed the Seeker to see the smirk on his face. He held up his index finger, shaking it back and forth. "One question."

He heard Cassandra scowl as he closed the door behind him. The dark corridor was dimly lit by soft glows from hanging lanterns. No windows were able to be built in this side of the castle as it was more inward than the other parts. Alistair looked over to a large shadow in a corner next to a set of knight armor. "I believe that went well."

Zevran stepped out of the shadows, a grin holding steady on his face. "Better than we had both originally thought."

Alistair quirked an eyebrow to him, "so you did it?"

The elf nodded, "but there is still the matter of making sure it worked."

"Go on, then. Just be careful." The two clasped arms in a friendly goodbye.

"Tsk. Alistair, you should know 'careful' is my middle name." Zevran let a sly wink out as the embrace was released.

Alistair rolled his eyes, "Yes, and mine is 'somber', I hate cheese and my wife is really a goat in disguise."

Zevran turned gracefully and walked away, holding up his hand as he suppressed a laugh. "Don't let the Queen hear you say that."

Alistair laughed silently to himself as he walked down the dark halls. _Maybe everything would work out after all_, he mused. Lost in thought, he wandered into a rack of empty armor, spilling it all over the floor with a clatter. _Then again, things do seem to like to crash down around me. _


	12. Mages Are Not Heroes

It was a hard thing to accept, this almost unavoidable change in his life. One moment he was a petty servant to the Chevaliers, the next he was traveling into Ferelden with two dwarven merchants he barely knew. And the journey wasn't exactly the easiest thing to endure.

Several times they were stopped by Ferelden soldiers, asking for papers verifying that they were allowed within the country after passing through the border along the Frostback Mountains. Bodahn, the elder dwarf's name, had managed to forge Andre's name onto the papers. There were flaws in the forgery, of course, but the soldiers weren't paid to determine whether or not it was an actual signature, just that they King's seal was in place.

They had been traveling for nearly a week, now making their way around Lake Calenhad, named after the late King Calenhad after he united the once barbarian lands. The atmosphere was cold as the wind would pick up and blow the air of the lake towards them, which still retained the bitterness of the winter long since past. Even from the distance that they were at, Kinloch Hold still made Andre nervous. The thought of being locked away for the rest of his life left a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He should have been more reassured, since the smaller dwarf, Sandal, gave him an enchanted rune to help hide his magic in case he accidentally released it. It had been building up for years, so who knew when it would come out. And if the Templars sensed it? No, that thought was even too much for him to bear.

It was getting late and Bodahn suggested they rest the ox that was driving their cart and set up camp. Reluctantly, Andre hopped down from the back of the cart and began to help unload their camping gear while throwing a tarp over the cart itself. Sandal was busying himself by helping his "father" unhinge the ox to allow it to graze. Andre tightened the straps connecting the cart to the tarp and began to pick up some of their tents to lug it over to the softer grass area.

"Just set up the one tent for yourself. The boy and I will be happy to sleep under the stars for once," Bodahn commented after watering his ox and picking up stones to create a fire pit. Andre looked around and unceremoniously dropped all the equipment on the ground. He kneeled down and began to untie the bedrolls as Bodahn and Sandal set the stone in place for the fire. Taking some dried wood out of his roll, he shook it to get all the dirt out of it and began to place the wood inside the pit. He waited for Bodahn to light his flint and begin the pain-staking process of maintaining the fire, but it never happened.

"No fire tonight," Andre questioned the dwarf, unsurprised if it were so since often they had to go without fire in hostile territories.

"Fire," Sandal clapped and jumped around happily after pointing to Andre.

Andre quirked an eyebrow at Sandal and turned his head toward Bodahn. "Fire?"

"I believe my boy wants you to light the fire this time," Bodahn stated simply to justify the strange behavior of his son.

"But," Andre gestured to the shadowing tower in the distance, "this isn't exactly the best place for me to conjure anything."

"Enchantment!" Sandal walked over to Andre and tapped the rune that held Andre's cloak together.

Andre looked down at it, confused, until he remembered what Sandal had made it for. "Oh!" He touched the rune, which glowed in response to his magic. "I had forgotten about this. Do you think it will work?" He glanced over to Bodahn when posing this question. The dwarf shrugged in response and sat down on the grass.

"We can only know if you try."

Andre nodded and breathed out heavily. He shook his hands and craned his neck, trying to relax since it had been a long time since he had summoned magic willingly. When he was younger, his sister had found out about his magic and kept him hidden away, ashamed of his blood; ashamed of what he had done the first time he released his power. It had been called an accident, made by a poorly placed lantern. But the memories of him desperately trying to conjure a cold spell, or poor the water from the troughs onto the flaming barn to soothe the monster that ate away at the flesh of his parents, stayed with him. From then on he was forced into isolation, the only other face he saw was his sister's.

She always had control over his life, right up until Lord De Prevot was murdered and he was set free from his command. And now, he was free to release the thing he held inside of him for so long.

Kneeling next to the fire-pit, Andre held out his hands awkwardly. He had seen some of the battle mages practicing in the fields, the ones that had their freedom since they were used for war so the mage fighting was irrelevant to them, so he attempted to mock their movements at the time, without calling forth from the Fade. It had involved a lot of chanting and flicks of the wrist, but Andre seemed to recall some of it. From the corner of his eye, he saw Bodahn and Sandal watching him expectantly. "Um," he gulped and cleared his throat, "you might want to stand back. This thing could go anywhere."

"Bah, no worries," Bodahn said, waving it off. "We're dwarves, practically immune to your magic. Once you start burning armies of darkspawn, then we will be worried."

Andre drew his eyebrows together and shook his head, bewildered at the fact that the dwarf showed no signs of fear. It was something he wasn't used to, to say the least. He focused his attention back onto the still forms of the stacked wood. _Imagine the fire passing through you and at your target_, he could still hear the enchanter say during the practice on the fields.

Gulping, he imagined the Fade surrounding him. The dark camp, wagon and dwarves became just a shrouded blur as his focus became more intense. White encased everything except for him and the unheated pit. Voices tried to penetrate his ears, luring him into the dark corners of the Fade. He twitched, resisting the temptation to follow the sweet sounds and promises. Instead, Andre focused on the task at hand: lighting this damn fire.

The invocation that the enchanter spoke in Arcanum flooded through his veins as he repeated the words out loud. Over and over again he chanted, until he was saying them with perfect clarity. The Fade began to dissipate as it appeared to almost curl up and lunge itself into him. The remaining white aura formed into small lines of energy, dancing around Andre's fingers. Clarity struck the camp once more as Andre channeled the wave of energy received from the Fade into his hands, making them light with a wild blue fire. Opening the eyes that he had unknowingly shut, he flicked his fingers down towards the pit. Small amount of fire trickled down until the magical fire licked at the wood, catching it as it spread.

Andre let out a sigh of relief when the flames took, until he noticed he was still holding the flame. He pushed his feet back, allowing himself to fall flat on his backside, and shook his hands violently. When the last amount of fire was gone, he slumped and rolled onto his side, snorting at the laughter coming from the older dwarf as he had witnessed this scene. "It's not funny, you know! That was very difficult."

"Oh, I'm sure. Lighting yourself on fire is a pretty big accomplishment," Bodahn joked as he overturned a charred log.

Andre was about to retort but was interrupted by a loud growling sound. He rolled on his back and pushed himself up to sit. Sandal patted his stomach and grimaced, "hungry."

"I'll start dinner," Andre said while retaining a chuckle.

The stew was not as filling as they would have liked it to be. One of their main reasons for heading to Redcliffe was to stock up on supplies for making another trip, possibly to another country altogether. So their stew was made up of whatever rations they could spare, sided with some tasteless doughy bread that was perfect for soaking up the juice at the bottom of their bowls.

With heavy eyes, Andre laid his head down to rest. The Fade did not bring him sweet darkness that night. Instead, his mind was plagued with the horrors of his past.

_He was hidden. The dark corners of the wagon that his sister had bought were not foreign to him. Sometimes she let him out, to see the forest of Orlais and even fetch a thing or two from the stalls, but no more than that. The carriage stopped. He heard his sister getting off the front reigns and walking towards the back, her feet crunching against the stone road. The flaps opened, and Andre shielded his eyes from the sudden brightness of the sun. "We're here," she said, her golden eyes shimmering in contrast to her black hair. Andre scrambled out of the wagon, still covering his eyes until they adjusted to the light. When he stepped down from the wagon, a man in bright clothing stood in front of him. _

_For a moment, he thought of retreating until a reassuring hand landed on his shoulder from his sister. She brought her lips close to his ear and whispered, "It's going to be alright, Andre. He's going to help you while I go away for a while." He gulped down a large lump in his throat and nodded._

_The man held out his hand, a fake smile plastered on his face. "Ah, so you're the one I was told about. You look like a strong boy. It will be a pleasure having you under me." Andre slowly and hesitantly raised his hand, gripping the man's lightly. "My name is Lord Gautier De Prevot."_

Andre awoke with a sweat. Screaming filled his ears. To his relief, he found it was not his own this time. Instead he looked off into the distance, where torched grass lit up the dark area. Men in heavy armor pushed against a smaller force. Blood was spilling before his eyes. It wasn't screams he was hearing, it was battle cries. A small built, red-haired woman fired shots off her long bow aside a lightly armored dwarf. Unmarked soldiers protected them from the charging Templars, who tried unsuccessfully to break their line.

Another heavily armored soldier of the resistance lunged at them, barreling them down with their shield before jamming their sword into them. Andre found that he had stood up and began creeping over to get a better look. When he did so, he saw that a Templar had swung off to the side to flank the dwarf. He looked back to Bodahn and Sandal who also rose to see the commotion. Bodahn waved his hand at him, telling him to get back to the camp, but he couldn't. The Templar was growing closer to a flanking position and if he didn't-

Before he knew it, the Fade was absorbed into him once more as he reached out his hand, to the swinging Templar. It released itself, surging forth a wave of lightening, knocking the Templar back just enough for the dwarf to acknowledge his presence. The dwarf swung around and cocked back his massive crossbow, sending a bolt through the eye-socket of the Templar.

The red-haired woman sent off her own arrows at the other opposing men, damaging enough of them that the heavy-armored, shield-bashing soldier could decapitate them before they even knew what happened. Some of the resistance fell to their own deaths as a raging Templar began to violently swing his blade, realizing he was the last to stand. "You don't have to do this," Andre heard the heavy-armored person plead. _Was that a woman? Yes… I think it was. _

The Templar ignored her cries of warning and instead turned his gaze towards her. "You didn't have to interfere," the Templar growled before charging towards the woman once more. She held up her shield and stumbled back as the force of the blade bounced of it. She pulled her shield back to swing her blade, which locked with the Templar's.

"I refuse to allow innocents to die!" The woman pushed back on her blade, causing the man to falter backwards. Andre looked around the group to see if her companions would interfere, but they just stood by and watched. _Why won't they help her?_

The man regained his bearings and lunged forward, arcing his blade upwards to allow for a more powerful impact. He heaved it down towards her helmet as she frantically put up her shield to protect herself. It was too late, he saw, as the blade quickly moved downward, striking her arm and causing her to crash down on the grass. The Templar towered over her, clutching his blade tightly. "Mages are the Maker's punishment to the world. They deserve no less than what we give them." He raised his sword to a vertical plunge over her. As he was about to strike her down, Andre saw the point of a blade piercing through his side.

He dropped his sword and staggered backwards, allowing the blade to slide off, grasping onto his side. Blood pooled around the wound, far more than what he needed within him to survive. He dropped to his knees and used his free hand to remove his helmet. Sweat kept his hair plastered to his head, his face was red from exhaustion but pale in some spots from blood loss. Andre's eyes widened as he realized this man was no older than he was. Fresh out of recruitment, most likely. The woman seemed to realize it too as her look of anger turned into pity.

Andre grew closer as the woman took off her own helmet, revealing red hair and a freckled face, and kneeled down to the Templar. "Let go of this hate that you have. You fought well and brave, defending what you believed was right. But now you're dying. Leave this hatred behind you as you go wherever it is you are going. It's no use there."

He clutched his side and screamed in pain, keeling over to lay on the ground. "Maker save you," he whispered to the woman as he slowly drifted off to the Maker's side.

The woman shook her head sorrowfully and stood up. She looked over to the soldiers and her companions. "Let's move out."

"Wait a minute, Aveline," the dwarf chimed in. He looked over to Andre and nodded his head towards him. "I think we ought to thank the guy who blasted Mr. Stabby behind me."

Andre stepped back in shock as the red-haired archer, Aveline and the dwarf strutted towards him. He looked around for a place to hide but cursed himself as he found nowhere within range. Andre looked behind him as he heard the footsteps of the merchant dwarves approach as well. "Messere Varric! Messere Aveline! Oh! And Lady Leliana! What a pleasant surprise," Bodahn said cheerfully as he stopped next to Andre.

"Haha, Bodahn you old dog! What brings you back to Ferelden?" Varric laughed and clapped his hand against Bodahn's back, making his stagger forward from the impact.

He rubbed his back thoughtfully as he regained his composure. "Business as usual. War really makes the sales go up."

"Heh, I knew I liked you," Varric jested before turning his attention back to Andre. "So, ah-"

"Are you an apostate," Leliana questioned before Varric got the chance.

"I, um-" Andre stuttered before Bodahn took over.

"The boy is a mage, yes. He's still trying to get used to his magic, however. With some training he might be more capable." He could tell that Bodahn was persuading them, but for what? Did he expect Andre to just up and join a group of people that he had never met before? Ones that he just saw attack Templars head on? He wasn't ready for that…

Not like he had any say in the matter, as they were discussing it while he was trying to gather his thoughts.

"So, you come with us, we get Sparky some training, and you will give us a discount on wares?" Varric had his hand on his chin as he pondered the idea. He looked to Leliana who just shrugged.

"Oh of course, messere. I never break my deals."

"Alright, Bodahn, you have a deal," Aveline said while extending her hand.

Bodahn took it and shook it excitingly. "Oh, thank you messere! It's always such a relief traveling with fighters, such as yourselves, through these dark times."

"Do you mind remaining here for a while? We have to secure the tower and it would be safer for you down here."

"I think we should bring the mage with us," Leliana commented as she studied Andre. "Maybe some of the mages there will be willing to train him."

"Can I have a name, or will you be calling me 'the mage' the entire time," Andre questioned the three in front of him.

"Depends if I like the name, Sparky." Varric had already given him a name, whether he liked it or not.

"It's Andre. And I'm not sure I would be very useful in the tower-"

"Well, you need training and the mages in there would be more willing to provide it for you if you helped them." Aveline was not too fond of the idea, herself, but she would never pass up the opportunity for more assistance.

Andre sighed. "I don't have much choice, do I?"

"Heh," Varric let out a small laugh and patted Andre on his arm, "we never do."


	13. My Dusky Goddess

**5 Weeks Earlier**

**(One week before Varric's interrogation)**

**~Hercinia, Free Marches~**

Even in shackles, the brown-haired temptress provided a smug look and an alluring appearance, seated in a sturdy wooden chair. Every now and then, the guards would have to switch posts because they got a little too hot under their armor whenever they were around her too long. She just wouldn't shut up about how much of a "compromising" position she was in. Finally, after hours of waiting, the guards opened the door to a man dressed in high-end leather armor accompanied by a woman in the typical suit of black with a sunburst emblem decorating the front.

The man stepped forward, eyeing the pirate with amusement. His green eyes were pale along with his skin, and his short brown hair showed signs of grey. "Isabela," he mused, rolling his tongue in a thick Antivan accent.

"Castillion," Isabela hissed at him and went to bite the hand that reached out to her. Castillion snapped his hand back in haste at the reaction, but quickly let a sharp smack mark her dark-toned face. She lolled her head to the side, her body shaking as she let out a loud laugh. Bringing her head back to face the Seeker that came in with Castillion, she ceased her laughter. "If someone would have told me that someone as high up as the precious Seekers would stoop so far down as to team up with this lug, I would have slit their throat for making me laugh too much."

"See," Castillion sneered as he addressed the Seeker, "she's right here. Now where's my ship?"

"All in good time, Castillion. Let Cassandra do her work and see if it's worth giving you such a big reward." A voice came from the open doorway. A red-haired woman leaned with her arms crossed against the frame. Cassandra turned to her and nodded her head for the woman to leave. The red-haired Seeker returned the gesture before pushing herself off of the door frame and allowing the heavy wood to shut behind her.

"Yes, let me do my work." Cassandra stepped into the light of the lanterns, her golden eyes scrutinizing Isabela as the pirate returned the look.

"You know, I can act big and scary too. But I prefer to get my information in more," Isabela glided her tongue across her lips, "conventional ways." She crossed her legs, allowing the short dress that she wore to reveal her thighs. The guards only bound her hands with shackles behind her back. It had not occurred to them to chain her feet as well as they were too busy blushing and drooling over her provocative suggestions.

Cassandra scoffed at the woman's attempt to seduce her. "If you really think that's going to work on me, especially since I know what you did, then you need to change your attitude." Cassandra grew closer and put her hands on the armrests of the chair, allowing her face to be inches from the pirate's. "I will not be toyed with. You will tell me what I want to know and speak quickly."

"You have the most amazing eyes," Isabela purred to the Seeker, bringing her face up a little to whisper into her ear. "You know what I do to people with pretty eyes?"

Cassandra shoved herself off of the chair and away from the pirate. She turned her back to Isabela, her face red in frustration.

"Where is she?"

"I don't know who _she_ is. If I did, then I probably would have gotten to know her a lot better."

"Where is Marian?"

"Marian? That's an odd name. Don't know a single person who would give their child such a hideous name."

Rubbing her temples with her forefingers, she twisted her body back to face the pirate. "Where. Is. Hawke," Cassandra asked, enunciating every word as if it were going to drive her question into Isabela and make her answer her.

"Well," Isabela smirked, "if I had it my way she would be in between my legs right now."

The Seeker knocked over one of the chairs next to her in anger. She was not going to get anything out of her. Intimidation didn't seem to work, and that was the only thing she truly knew how to do. Her eye twitched as Castillion chuckled lowly. "What's the matter, Seeker? Is the Rivaini woman too much for you?"

Cassandra shot a dark look over to the Antivan. "You know her best. I'll leave you with her until she's decided that she will play nice."

Castillion snorted, "Isabela never plays nice."

"Just do it or you won't get your end of the deal," Cassandra said as she walked back over to the door, opening it and then slamming it behind her as she left the room.

"Well then," Castillion strode over to the chair where Isabela sat, pulling out a knife. "I suppose I have to get you prepped for the Seeker. I'm sure she wouldn't mind some damaged cargo."

"I can't believe you're playing a little pet to a Seeker now." Isabela cocked her head to the side and chewed her lip thoughtfully. "Oh wait, I can believe it. You were always such a pushover."

Castillion twirled the knife between his fingers. "Tsk. Isabela, I don't think you want to tease the man that holds your fate in his hands."

"Heh, and I don't think you want to kill the woman that is your ticket to a new ship," she retorted, her eyes roaming the small shack meant for storing the items used to repair the boats. They had caught her as she docked The Siren's Call 2 and wasted no time dragging her to the closest building.

Castillion brought the blade up to her face and traced her jaw with the flat side. "She doesn't need you for long. Besides, by the time I'm done with you, you're going to be begging for me to kill you."

Isabela rolled her eyes and uncrossed her legs. "Fat chance." She brought her legs up and kicked Castillion in his stomach, hard, causing him to stumble back and fall. Quickly, she stood up, awkwardly bent by having the chair tied to her, and spun around as the two guards lunged towards her. Isabela knocked one down with the leg of the chair and ran backwards at the other one, pinning him against a wall with a loose shelf. The shelf collapsed as he slammed against it, dropping down an anchor onto his head, knocking the guard out.

She didn't wait for him to drop to the floor as Castillion and the other guard were getting back up. "Balls," she cursed to herself as they blocked her exit. A trickle of blood fell off her wrist as she formed an idea.

The other guard was about to draw his sword, but was warned not to by Castillion. "We need her alive." He came at her, instead, knife in hand and a deadly look in his eyes. The knife wouldn't be enough to kill her, but would be able to wound her so that she gives up. Or, at least, that was Castillion's logic. He went to swipe at her revealed chest with the knife, but Isabela turned abruptly, causing him to gash her hands as he was impacted with the chair. The blood formed around the shackles, creating a lubricant. She began to wiggle her hands out of them as she backed away from the guard coming towards her.

Seconds seemed like hours as she pulled at her restraints. Isabela could feel them tightening as they went over her palms. Finally, they slipped off as the shackles moved over her knuckles and onto the floor. The chair dropped behind her, in time for Isabela to roll out of the way as the guard was reaching for her. Castillion recovered from his recent stumble and headed towards her with the knife again. Isabela evaded his next attempt at slicing her and leapt onto the side table like a cat evading a wild mabari.

Glancing to the post next to her, she grinned wickedly at the men coming towards her. "Lights out, boys," she chuckled and opened up the door to the lantern, blowing on the flame and shrouding the entire room in darkness.

"Shit. Get to the door!" Isabela smiled to herself as she heard Castillion shouting orders to the guard and him fumbling around the overturned chairs to protect the exit. But it was too late. The door opened with a creek as the rogue pirate slipped out, slamming it and securing the door with a wooden plank hung on two slabs of metal. She let out a breath that she didn't know that she was holding in and chuckled to herself as the men began to slam on the door.

Turning her back to the door, she scanned the area for her ship… but it was gone. All that remained was the Seeker's ship and the one that she suspected they had promised to Castillion. Her crew, her boat that she had just painted a new series of alluring colors was gone. "Shit." There was no way for her to get on another ship, not with the dark figures patrolling around Castillion's promised one and the feeling that Cassandra was on her own.

Isabela spent too much time thinking and not enough time moving. Before she could react to the noise of something large landing on the ground behind her, a sharp point penetrated her top and dug into the flesh of her back. Hot breaths grazed over her neck as the blade dug deeper. "I warned you not to test me, wench."

"Heh, damn harbor roofs- you can never trust them. You can't kill me, Castillion. You still need me; Cassandra still needs me," Isabela retorted, her breathes coming in short bursts despite her protests to keep calm.

"Ha! You think that she needs _you_? There are more people that she can drain for information. As for my ship? Well," he let out a bark of laughter, "my old one will do just nicely."

Before Isabela could say anything more, before she could twist her body around and strangle the man that stole her rightfully owned ship, before she could even process his last words- Castillion drove his blade into her back.

Isabela gasped in shock. The blade dug deeper and he twisted it as she fell. Isabela laid sprawled on the cold, hard wooden dock, her blood dripping through the cracks and staining the water. Castillion removed the blade and walked around to her head. He bent over and grabbed a ruffle of brown hair and pulled her head up so he could look her in the eye. "You were never anything but a whore that couldn't find the right brothel." Bringing the blade up, he pressed it against her dark-skinned throat. "Any last words?"

Isabela's eyes lolled up to his. "You might have gotten on top, in the end, but I still consider it a draw."

Castillion sneered and drew his blade across her throat, creating a seamless line decorating her jugular, just enough that she could feel her life fade away, but not enough for it to be instant. He let go of her hair and her head flopped down, allowing the blood to soak her face. He grabbed onto her arm and stood up, dragging her to the edge of the docks. "No," he said while rolling her off the side with his foot and into the water, "I always win."

* * *

><p><strong>Earlier that evening-<strong>

The red-haired Seeker snuck around the docks like she was made to be part of the shadows. They had only just docked to find Castillion's men taking over The Siren's Call 2. Another disfigured shadow leaned against the post marking the road to the small town on the coast of the Free Marches. Looking around her to make sure she wasn't followed, she slipped around the post to meet the other shadow.

Producing a large pouch from her side, she held it out for the cloaked man to take. "You better be ready for anything."

The cloaked man nodded, "Of course. The row boat is ready to take the cargo, in whatever condition."

"And if the cargo is in a very fragile state?"

"We have experts aboard the transport ship that know what to do with damaged goods."

"Good, I expect nothing less for how much your services cost."

"Heh," the cloak man snorted, "it would have been more if the Guild-Master did not crack down on us. Consider this a personal favor from him."

"Then I expect it to be done in a timely manner. Stay close to the docks, in case the cargo goes overboard." The red-haired Seeker began to shift away, back into the darkness.

"Of course," the cloaked man bowed graciously, "Seeker Leliana."


End file.
